


Tastes like Gold

by Ravenmyre



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Banter, Blind Louis, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Famous Louis, Kinda, M/M, Non-Famous Harry, Slow Build, Songwriter Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-10 16:17:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 73,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7852246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenmyre/pseuds/Ravenmyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. A lot of musicians dream about making it big and Harry is no exception. He has all the pieces to build a rocket ship to the music industry, but he’s missing the key. The songwriter. Ft. overbearing mangers, stunts, and a grumpy Louis Tomlinson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stepping stone

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be 30k and under, but it turned into a monster :x

Everything hits him at once. Louis slumps into the seat of his car; a grin bursting on his face. His stomach hasn’t stopped doing flips since his manager told him the news inside the glass studio in front of him. A chart topping single.

And he still can’t wrap his mind around it.

He tosses his head back and laughs. Who would have thought?

Pressing a hand to his mouth, Louis can’t help but smile broadly. God, he’s so lucky. Never in a million years would he have thought he could get this far. If someone told him he would win ICON Season 13 with his two best friends, he would have called them crazy. If they also said he would have a number one single on Billboard’s Top 100, he would have politely suggested that it was unattainable.

Except he just did.

Naturally he does the next logical thing and calls his mom.

“Hon?”

“Mom,” Louis says as he finally turns his car on. “Hi. Hi. Hi.”

“Are you alright?” His mother laughs. “Hi to you too. Your father is out walking Jack at the moment, if you want to talk to him as well.”

“No, mom. I wanted to talk to you.” Louis bites his tongue, trying to stop himself from blurting the news. “I’m alright. I can always call the house again when he’s back. But I wanted to talk to you.”

"So you mentioned,” his mother says. “Well? What brings you to call?”

“Mom,” Louis whines good-naturedly. “I can’t call my beautiful mother whenever I want?”

A giggle filters through the speakers of his car. “I’ll have you know that you used to only call when you needed something.”

"Mom,” Louis says. “I did not.”

He should probably get going if he wants to be able to freshen up before he heads out with the group tonight. Easing the car out of the parking lot, he turns onto the road, eyes flickering from his mirrors and the street.

“Louis."

"I haven’t done that in years!”

"So you haven’t,” she says, amusement lacing her voice.

 He can’t wait any longer. “My song, mom. ‘Hurricane’. It’s number one,” pausing he lets it sink in, “Hurricane is number one!”

A fist-pump may have been thrown in there even though he knows she can’t see. Who can blame him though? He stops at a red and drinks in the purple hues of the sky fading to the navy night. God, today has been such a good day.

A sharp intake of breath. “Oh my god. Oh. My. God. I’m so proud of you!”

“I got the call today when I was in the studio a couple minutes ago. We’re meeting up with the rest of the crew for a drink.”

His mother hums. “Well, the three of you certainly deserve it. Congrats, Hon. How’s filming the music video for ‘Firebird’ coming along?”

He turns on his blinker as the light turns green. Everything is all right and anything wrong he can hold off until tomorrow. Let himself enjoy the sweet taste of success for a night.

By the time he sees the car running the red light, it’s too late.

“It’s going fine. Our director wants us to do a couple of scenes before and after--”

Diana pulls away from her cellphone when a dial tone erupts from the other end of the call. She dials her son’s number. It rings and rings, and transfers her to Louis’s voicemail a minute later.

"It’s probably nothing,” she assures herself. “It’s probably nothing.”

 

* * *

 

_If It Storms duo dedicates award to songwriter_

_Valarie Kohfman and Owen Helms took home three awards this Sunday, May 1 st, at the American Music Awards. The down-to-earth duo, however, did not forget to thank one important person for each award they won. _

_"This could not have been possible without everyone who has supported us,” Kohfman said when they received the award for Artist of the Year. “But one person who we couldn’t have made it without is Louis Tomlinson. This is for him.”_

_Louis Tomlinson, 23, was the third member of the chart topping duo – back then, trio – when the three won the 13 th season of ICON. After a harrowing traffic accident the night the group debuted their most famous song, “Hurricane”, at number 1 in the United States and United Kingdom, Tomlinson has not toured with the band. The head on collision with a truck running a light left Tomlinson unconscious with severe injuries according to a statement released by a representative. Despite missing tours, Tomlinson has still remained one of the most important members of the songwriting team for the duo._

_[Click here to see related articles about Louis Tomlinson]_

_When asked about Tomlinson, Helms told us that Tomlinson couldn’t make it to the award show._

_"He would have loved to be here,” Helms said. “He’s still a huge part of the band.”_

_Rumors have swarmed the band for the past couple of years on Tomlinson’s commitment to the band, but the duo maintained that they are stronger than ever. Especially Tomlinson._

_“He’s always been our rock,” Kohfman said. “He’s the first one we go to when we have an idea for a song, he’s the one we both lean on when we’re going through a rough time.”_

_“Louis is as much a part of this band as Val and me,” Helms said._

_If It Storms also took home Best Single of the Year for “Silver Summer”, Favorite Duo, and Favorite Pop Album for “Crystal Hands”._

Whatever people say about eyes meeting across the room is a lie. It’s probably one of Harry’s biggest pet peeves. It’s not real. Sure there are uncommonly blue eyes, but it’s incredibly difficult to just look at one feature and think, “Oh my god. Those eyes are the most beautiful I’ve seen – I’vejustfalleninlovewithyou.”

Snorting, he shuts his coworker’s magazine containing the _How to Tell You’ve Met Your Soulmate_ article and another about some weather band winning some award to address the incoming customer. It’s not as if he doesn’t know how he looks. Life isn’t a walking cliché, yet in some aspects, he is uncomfortably conscious of how it feels like it is.

Seriously. He is a recent college graduate who works in a Borders book café, serving coffee to customers who wear beanies and large glasses without lenses.

Okay, that only applies to a few people. The majority of people just want their frozen mocha Frappuccino’s, a fantastic best seller, and are on their way.

A hip bumps into his, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You have your dramatic face on again.”

Harry hipchecks his co-worker back. “Thanks, Kate.”

“I could call it your resting-bitch face,” Kate says, jabbing chocolate skinned fingers into his side. She is all smiles for the next customers. “Hi, what would you like today? Harry will be happy to make you your drink.”

The woman before them twirls a strand of bright turquois hair that escapes her black toque around her finger. “I’m not sure. What’s good here?”

Harry is about to respond when the man beside her snorts. “You always get the same thing, what’s the point? Hurry up and get something.”

“Not in the same shop.” The woman reaches over and wraps the man’s hand tightly around her arm.

The man grumps, but doesn’t say another word. Harry would say he’s clearly upset, but the large Ray Bans obscure the man’s face.

"I think I’ll have.” The woman pauses, then brightens. “I’ll have a mango smoothie.” She nudges her companion none-too-subtly.

"Always boosting my self esteem, aren’t you?” The man says sarcastically. “Why don’t you just order me something already, genius.”

“Could I get you anything else?” Harry interjects, stepping on Kate’s foot. Kate’s hands are clenching the counter, her knuckles slowly but surely turning white.

"Sure. Candy Bar over here wants,” the woman says and turns to the man, “what do you want?”

“Rude.” The man says under his breath.

That’s enough for Kate. Harry stomps harder on Kate’s foot, but his coworker leans over the table and into the man’s face.

"Hey,” Kate says. “She’s doing you a favor here. Who are you to go and say that she’s being rude? You’re the one who should be doing her a favor. Not the other way around.”

"Kate!” Harry hisses, before addressing their customers. “Sorry about that. Your drink is on us.”

The man cuts him off with a wave. “No it’s fine. Surprise me with a drink?”

“Don’t worry if he doesn’t like it,” the woman says. “He’s a Sour Patch everywhere I take him. I’ll pay for the drinks, since Sour Patch doesn’t have manners. Here’s a twenty. Keep the change.”

“If you guys want to sit down, I’ll get the drinks to you in a couple of minutes.”

"Thanks!” The woman chirps before dragging the man away with her.

As soon as the two are out of earshot in the corner of the café, Harry rounds on Kate.

"What the hell is your problem?”

Kate waves her hand at the two. “Did you not see that? He was disrespecting her! Do you even know who the hell that woman is?”

Harry shakes his head. “No. It doesn’t matter who she is. They could have been joking around – it’s not our place to say something like that. And if they’re important people, we are in even deeper shit.”

“That’s Valarie Kohfman,” Kate says as she waves her hands around. “She’s amazing at what she does. Like hell am I going to let someone walk over her. Plus, what kind of guy wears sunglasses indoors? Douchebags. And for someone who hates clichés you’re certainly not breaking any of them.”

"At least I’m not going to get our asses fired,” Harry says, grabbing the yogurt and the mango juice. “Make yourself useful. I’m going to get the green tea mix.”

"You’re making him a green tea Frappuccino? That’s either a hit or miss.”

“Yeah well, we’re already a pretty big miss for this guy, so it can only go up from here.”

Harry ends up bringing the frozen drinks to the table since he apparently can’t trust Kate to keep her mouth shut. Especially since Valarie seems to have evaporated into thin air, leaving the grumpy stranger alone.

The man must hear him approach, but he doesn’t address Harry. Harry stares back at him, unsure of what to do.

Clearing his throat, he places the drinks on the table. “Here are your drinks, sir.”

The corner of the stranger’s mouth tips up. “Thanks. And please don’t call me sir. I doubt I’m much older than you. If that.”

"Sure. The next time you come back, I’ll remember that,” Harry says. “But I’ll need another name to address you. Don’t think I can just call you ‘Stranger’ in my head.”

The stranger snorts. “That’s not the worst thing I’ve been called. Re-,” he cuts off and frowns.

“Reed?” Harry says.

"Reed works fine.”

Frowning, Harry shifts his weight back and forth. That’s definitely not the stranger’s real name, but if he thinks about it, he gets it. If Kate’s right about the woman that was around him, ‘Reed’ probably doesn’t want to get stuck in the tabloids.

"I got you--” Harry says.

"I’m sorry—” Reed says.

 They both pause, Harry tucking his hands into the pockets of his apron.

“You go first,” Reed offers.

“You sure?” At Reed’s nod, Harry begins again. “I got you a green tea frap, but with raspberry syrup. If you don’t like it, I’ll get you a new one without it.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Reed assures him, but makes no move to pick up either drink. “I – uh – I’m sorry for earlier. It was just a bit of banter.”

Harry turns to look back at the counter to raise his eyebrows at Kate, who is a nosy human being and probably eavesdropping on the conversation. “It wasn’t our place to say anything.”

“It’s a bad habit of ours, provoking each other,” Reed says, long fingers tapping a rhythm against the table.

“I get you.” Harry nods. “Kate and I could probably get a degree in it.”

Reed’s lips tick upwards again. “I’m going to assume you’re not Kate.”

Harry looks down at his name tag; surely Kate didn’t switch tags without him noticing again. “Yeah, no. I’m Harry.”

"Who would’ve thought you would have decided to conversate willingly without me here,” the woman’s voice interrupts.

Before Harry can excuse himself from the table, Reed smirks. “Who would’ve thought you didn’t know ‘conversate’ wasn’t a word?”

“Shut up, Sour Cakes,” the turquoise haired woman says.

Sour Cakes? Harry stares at the woman before him with his eyebrows raised, searching his thoughts for the woman’s name. Kate said something like Valarie? Mallory? Someone important?

She turns to Harry, scooping up the perspiring mango smoothie. “Do you happen to know your way around here?”

“I – yes.”

“Fantastic,” she says. “If I were to go to a bar, which one would I go to? Any suggestions for a good time?”

“Cornerstable on Fifth Street is pretty good,” Harry says after a moment’s hesitation. It’s a question he’s never been asked since he started working here a couple years ago. “Depends on what you want. Mikey’s on Abbey Street is also decent. A little more expensive, but they’ve got quality music.”

She takes a sip of the smoothie and hums in surprise. “You certainly know your stuff.”

“Flattery doesn’t get you everywhere,” Reed mumbles.

Flicking his eyes to the other customer, Harry watches as Reed shifts his hand until it bumps into the frappe he had left on the table.

“Whatever. You ready to run?”

“I’ve been ready to leave since before we came down here.”

The woman rolls her eyes. “Sorry about Sour Patch over here. I’d say he’s usually not like that, but then I’d be lying. Thanks for the drinks and the recommendations.”

“Sure,” Harry manages. They sweep out of the café; Reed’s hand balanced in the crook of the woman’s elbow. “Weird.”

“You got to have a legit conversation with Val – holy _shit_.” Kate appears by his elbow.

“How come you weren’t fangirling this hard when you were taking her order?”

Kate scoffs, pushing a rag into his hands. “That would have been unprofessional.”

“Unprofessional,” Harry repeats, eyebrows raised. “Says the girl who chewed out her customer’s companion.”

Rolling her eyes, Kate points at the table. “Shut up and wipe the table.”

“Yes ma’am,” Harry says cheekily. Then he remembers. “I got a gig at Mikey’s on Friday. Pete wants to know if you want to go?”

“Pete can go shove his invitation elsewhere.”

“Come on, Pete’s not that bad.” Harry bites his lip to prevent himself from grinning. It’s not as if he doesn’t know that Kate and Pete have been hooking up for the past month. He doesn’t know how these two go from tearing at each other’s throats to making out behind the bar. It’s a vicious cycle.

“He’s a conceited, selfish, pompous, grade-A, useless cactus.”

He probably shouldn’t point out that she no longer calls him a grade-A dick, but that’s neither here nor there. “So does that mean you’re going?”

Kate purses her lips, so Harry smiles winningly at her. She’ll break; he knows it.

“Yeah, okay.”

_***_

“Hey, man? You’re up.”

Harry fiddles with his guitar strap before offering the other man a smile. “Thanks.”

This isn’t his first gig at Mikey’s. Not by far. But today is far more packed than usual. The space in front of the makeshift stage is packed with people with their phones in their hands. Which – is there something else going on today besides Open-Mic night?

Shaking the thoughts out of his head, Harry plugs the speakers into his guitar and steps onto stage.

He has to squint a little before his eyes adjust to the bright lights contrasting the dim atmosphere of the rest of the bar. The rumble of conversation thrums around him, a rolling beat in contrast to the pound of his pulse. From the stage, the crowd seems a little bigger, the noise seems a little quieter. Groups of people cluster in the back by the bar, heads nodding to the fading beat from the DJ.

“Hey,” he says into the microphone when the song finally ends. Heads swivel to face him. He can see Kate in the back corner raise her grasshopper green liquor and hoot. Pete’s right beside her, hands cupped around his mouth – likely yelling one obscenity or another.

“I’m Harry Styles. The first song I’ll be covering is ‘Midnight Again’ by Avery Fitzgerald.”

The crowd hushes. Harry takes a breath and plucks the first cord.

The crowd evaporates. Closing his eyes, he strums the guitar with his fingers and hums the opening. The melody washes over him as he sways, fingers stroking the strings coaxing the slow tune while his foot marks the beat.

“ _And it’s midnight again, no where to go_

_And you’ve caught my eye, dancing alone_

_There’s nothing else running through our minds._

_So take my hand, let’s run away,_

_From the dark to the light, heart in our throats_

_And no one can stop us_

_Cause it’s midnight again.”_

“Dude,” Pete crows, clapping Harry hard on the back. “Didn’t think Avery Fitzgerald was your tune.”

“Didn’t I tell you he was covering a couple songs by the guy before he went on?” Kate throws up her hands in exasperation.

Harry laughs, his skin still buzzing after stepping off the stage a minute ago. He wipes sweat off the back of his neck before he responds. “It felt like the right song. Think I pulled it off?”

“Did better than just pull it off,” someone says from behind him. Confused, Harry watches as Pete’s mouth drops open and Kate’s eyes flash with surprise.

Whirling around, he finds himself face to face with the woman with turquois tipped hair from the café four nights ago. The Ray-Bans wearing stranger isn’t with her this time. Instead, a ginger with a giant grin follows her.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you could sing, Coffee?”

“Coffee?” Harry, Pete, and Kate say simultaneously.

“Val,” the ginger says and sighs.

Valarie sticks out her tongue. “Sorry, sorry. I never caught your name at the café. Carter? Harry?”

“Harry.” The ginger puts a hand out to shake. “Owen.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry says slowly and shakes his hand. What is going on?

“You can seriously play the guitar,” Owen compliments. “Not many people play without a guitar pick with those songs you chose.”

“Thanks.”

Valarie sweeps an olive-skinned hand through her dyed locks and fixes her cat-like eyes on Pete and Kate. “You must be Kate! Lovely seeing you again. And you are?”

“Pete.”

“Fantastic,” Valarie gushes, and taps a finger against her lip.

Beside her, Owen groans. “Come on, Val. Please don’t do what I’m thinking. He isn’t going to be happy, even if he --”

Clicking her tongue, Valarie purses her lips and stares at Harry. It’s a bit unsettling, to be honest. Harry shifts from one foot to another under her gaze, unsure of what to do.

“Tell you what. This is what we’re going to do,” Valarie says.

Harry startles when Owen takes a step back with his hands up. “What?”

Owen points between Valarie and Harry. “This. I’m not getting involved in this.”

“Hold up,” Kate cuts in. “What is going on? No one is getting involved with anyone. Back me up on this Pete.”

“You’re not getting involved in this,” Pete says dutifully.

“I thought you guys were fighting with each other,” Harry points out. He can feel the gazes gathering around them. More and more people are turning towards them, eyes wide and mouths hidden by the rims of their glasses.

“Not the time, Harry.” Kate punches him lightly in the shoulder.

“Hear me out,” Valarie says. Her eyes sweep over the bar and Harry wants to follow her gaze. It’s like she knows something he doesn’t and it’s unnerving him more than it should.

“Come on Val. The last time we did this, he was beyond pissed.”

Valarie whirls on Owen, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Listen. I think we’ve got something there. He,” she gestures at Harry, “could be it. He has the right vibe or whatever he’s looking for.”

“Okay,” Harry says to get their attention. People are starting to approach, features appearing slowly in the dim lighting.

“Um, excuse me. Could I have a picture with you and Owen?” Another person interrupts the conversation.

“Sure,” Valarie and Owen say simultaneously. It’s enough to appease the stranger, but Harry has no doubt that person won’t be the last.

“Let’s take this out back,” Valarie suggests. She doesn’t wait for them to agree, just bulldozes her way through people beginning to amass at the corner of the bar.

“Go, go,” Pete says, pushing Kate and Harry after her.

“Why?” Harry asks but follows Owen and Valarie nonetheless.

“Why?” Kate hisses by his ear. “Those two make up one of the hottest bands right now, If It Storms. They just won five awards at the AMAs. Weren’t you reading my magazine on Tuesday when Valarie stopped by?”

Pete halts in his tracks, mouth gaping in betrayal. “They stopped by and you didn’t tell me?”

“Now is not the time,” Kate tugs Pete along with her. “We have no idea what is going on, but this could be huge.”

They follow Valarie through the exit behind the bar. It’s still only early May, midnight breeze chilling the sweat sticking Harry’s shirt to his back. He stifles a shiver, focusing on the two stars before him.

Harry can’t help but think how Valarie certainly has the image for one. Feet planted shoulder-width apart with her arms folded she exudes confidence. It certainly helps that there is a conveniently placed full moon above them.

“So.” Valarie rubs her hands together. “Hear us out.”

“I’m not a part of this,” Owen says from where he leans against a wall, texting.

“Yes you are,” Valarie says. “Anyway. We think you’ve got talent.”

“Thanks.”

“You’ve got a unique voice,” Owen says after a beat. “But you could use a bit of voice training. What experience did you have before?”

“Not much,” Harry replies, only to have Pete cut him off.

“He did Open Mic Nights back in college and Battle of the Bands. He placed first our junior and senior year.”

Valarie and Owen exchange a glance, as if confirming something.

“Okay then,” Valarie says as she draws out the words. “Here’s the deal. I--”

“We,” Owen corrects.

Valarie rolls her eyes and takes a step towards Harry. “We, want to you meet a special someone, sing for him, and we’ll see what happens from there.”

“What you’re saying is that you might help him get started as an artist,” Pete says.

“Not exactly.” Owen shakes his head. “We aren’t the ones who make the final call. We want someone else to listen to him before anyone makes the decision.”

Gaping, Harry looks back and forth between the two. He doesn’t even know where his stomach has gone.

“That’s amazing,” Harry breathes. “Thank you.”

Valarie shrugs and gives him a curling smile. “Don’t thank us yet. We’ll send a taxi to pick you up at ten, tomorrow morning. Are you free then?”

Harry’s stomach sinks. He has work tomorrow from nine to five-

“He’ll be there,” Kate says for him. She elbows him hard in the side and it’s enough to wrench a shocked thank you from his lips.

“Great!” Valarie pulls out her phone. “What’s your number? I’ll need an address to pick you up from.”

Numbly, Harry rattles it off. “Should I prepare anything?”

“It’s not anything too big,” Owen shrugs his shoulders. “I’d say just be ready to sing one of the songs you performed tonight.”

“Sound good?” Valarie says. She folds her arms and regards him with her feline eyes as if inviting him to ask another question.

“I – yeah. Yeah,” Harry agrees.

“Fantastic. I guess we’ll see you tomorrow then.” Valarie turns to Owen, hands on her hips. “You text Al?”

“He’s coming around the block.” Right as Owen responds, a sleek Range Rover pulls up.

Owen holds his hand out for Harry to shake. “That’s our ride. Nice meeting you.”

Kate and Pete also shake hands with the ginger singer before the Range Rover pulls away.

“What just happened?” Pete asks.

None of them move, still stuck in place staring at the empty space the car had pulled away from. The bass from Mikey’s bounces off the ground of the ally, the only sound aside from the rustle of misplaced paper.

“I still have no idea.” But a grin grows on Harry’s face. “But I think I’m okay with being clueless here.” The euphoria pops when he realizes he still has work.

“Get that face off,” Kate wraps her arms around his shoulders. “Pete and I got your shift covered.”

“I do?” Pete asks. At Kate’s look, he quickly changes his tune. “I totally got it.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Now that we’re done with that. Holy shit, holy _shit_!” Kate jumps onto Harry’s back.

“Yeah, that,” Pete laughs. “I’m with her on that. If you get famous, you’re totally bringing us on tour with you.”

Shaking his head, Harry chuckles, then sighs. “Let’s not go that far yet.”

 

It’s nerves that wake Harry up at six. By eight, he’s strumming a guitar; humming under his breath, foot tapping away.

The phone call from Kate at nine is more than welcome.

“You’re panicking aren’t you,” Kate accuses as soon as he picks up.

“I’m not,” Harry says. Okay, he is lying between his teeth, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“Whatever.” Kate doesn’t push. “I think I found something that you like.”

“You’re being sarcastic aren’t you.”

“I’m texting you the link now. But hey, at least you know that you’ll have your ten minutes of fame right?”

“Ten minutes of fame?” Did someone take a picture of them last night? But they’re the furthest thing from famous. “You’re definitely being sarcastic right now.”

“Your snark is not appreciated. Just read it!”

“Do you expect me to stay on the phone while I read it?” Harry is only half joking.

Thankfully, Kate seems to catch his drift. “Yeah. Not like there are a lot of customers right now.”

The link sends him to a tabloid – and he can’t help it. He scoffs.

“Seriously,” Kate says. “Just read it. It’ll make you laugh. Promise.”

“Fine, fine.”

_If It Storms’ Valarie Kohfman flirts with mystery man during night out in Baltimore_

_Looks like Valarie Kohfman is certainly enjoying her time on break._

_Pictures of the If It Storms singer and a mystery man surfaced after enjoying the night out at Mikey’s. The two were seen leaving the bar after cozying up with a couple of friends._

_Valarie and fellow If It Storms singer Owen Helms finished their worldwide tour, Crystal Hands in April._

_A fan said Valarie seemed familiar with the unnamed man._

_“They talked for a while and it seemed like he was introducing her to his friends,” the fan said._

_Valarie showed off her fabulous figure in a tight leather jacket and black skinny jeans in her classic partying attire._

_She finished off the outfit with classic black boots from Yves Saint Laurent’s spring collection and let her famous neon blue tinged locks loose. Her mystery male companion was certainly dressed down in ripped jeans, ratty tennis shoes, and a classic black t-shirt._

[Click here to see Valarie’s best-dressed moments]

_A spokesman at the club told us that this wasn’t Valarie’s first visit to the bar. “She stopped by on Tuesday and decided to come back yesterday for the music. We were all surprised to see her here. There was speculation that she was in the city, but we didn’t know she would stop by. She is an incredibly polite girl.”_

_Valarie disappeared after a crazy night out in London the previous weekend, where she partied all night with chart topper and “Midnight Again” artist, Avery Fitzgerald._

 

“What the hell?” Harry finds himself laughing. “Mystery man?”

“Yeah,” Kate says around giggles. “Of all people. You don’t even swing that way.”

Snorting, Harry shakes his head. “I can’t even drink water out of a bottle without spilling it on myself, much less act like a mystery.”

“You can say that again. But in all seriousness, you alright? You ready for this?”

Taking a deep breath, Harry catalogues himself. He knows the lyrics, he knows the chords. “I think so. Today is just one person. It’s not an audition.”

“It’s not an audition,” Kate agrees. “Whatever happens, at least you got your ten minutes of fame.”

Harry grins. “Mystery man.”

“I’m totally going to start calling you that, by the way.”

It shouldn’t comfort him as much as it does, but somehow it does. Shooting shit with Kate is something he can do and anything is “Should I start calling you and Pete mystery friends?”

“It’s got a certain ring to it – think that can be our band name? Except you’re the only one can sing. Neither Pete nor I can carry a tune to save our lives.”

Kate’s not kidding. In all honesty, Harry doesn’t know who is worse. Kate is as tone deaf as a person can get and while Pete has a low register, he can’t sing a note to save his life.

His phone vibrates by his ear and it startles him.

“That Valarie?” Kate demands.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Go, go,” Kate says. “Tell Pete and I how it goes later. Good luck!”

The line goes dead and all Harry has left is a text message from Valarie telling him that the car is here.

When he leaves his apartment, he expects to see a yellow cab. Not a Range Rover. And certainly not Owen in the front seat of the car.

“Hey, man,” Owen says as Harry places his guitar in the backseat. “We’re not all that far from where we’re headed.”

“Oh,” Harry manages, unsure of what to say.

Owen gives him a small smile. “If you don’t want to do this, it’s fine. I know Val can be a bit much to take in all at once.”

“It’s kind of unreal, you know? Like the song, ‘Torrent’?” Harry tries to explain. “You know, the one that goes on about ‘I don’t know, don’t know, how to take it in. Crashing, breaking, waves against my skin, and I’m drowning ten feet underwater’.”

Owen lets out a sharp bark of laughter as he pulls out of the lot. “I think you’re in for a bigger surprise.”

“What’s that?”

The large grin is back on Owen’s face – the nerves are twisting in Harry’s stomach at the sight of it.

“Even though it’s sung by Crowned Kings, that’s written by the guy you’re about to meet.”

And now Harry is pretty sure there’s a stone in his stomach. “You’re kidding me.”

Owen meets his eyes for a moment, then chuckles. “Don’t worry. He’s not going to bite. He’s just. Kind of prickly about his music? Sometimes. But if he likes you, you’re going to be fine.”

Letting out a deep breath, Harry leans his head against the window of the car. He’s got this. This is just like performing at Mikey’s. Just music.

 

_***_

“Okay, so quick thing before we go in,” Owen reminds him. “Don’t touch anything. He’s got a particular place for everything so he can find things. Don’t mess anything up – it’s going to be difficult for him to get things back in order.”

Harry just nods. What’s up with this songwriter guy? All he’s getting is that the guy seems like a crabby perfectionist.

“You ready?” Owen asks, hand poised to ring the doorbell.

No. But Harry nods anyway.

The door swings open immediately, Valarie’s bright hair at the entrance of the complex. “You made it! Brilliant. Come on in, he’s up and a bit moody, but he’ll be alive enough.”

He lets Valarie tug him through the dark apartment, running the song’s lyrics through his head. “Torrent” is a beautiful song –

His thoughts are cut short as a haunting trill thrums through the air. There’s someone playing the same notes on a piano over and over again.

“Val?” Someone calls from the only lit room. “I thought you said you were getting something to drink from the kitchen? Who did you let into my place?”

Harry blinks. It’s Reed, sitting by the piano, fingers toying with a flowing, but aimless melody. There’s something a bit off about him again, just like back at the café.

“Oh come on, Louis.” Valarie saunters over to the piano, slinging her arms around Reed.

Called it. Totally called that Reed wasn’t his real name. Harry stifles his satisfaction in favor of cluing back into the conversation.

“Don’t pretend you don’t recognize Harry.”

“Oh. And you expect me to recognize someone I’ve only met once by their footsteps?” Louis shakes Valarie’s arms off of him. “What are you doing here?”

Harry meets Louis’s blue eyes, except that’s the thing that’s off. Louis doesn’t look at him directly, instead, he looks somewhere over Harry’s shoulder. Harry looks over it, but Owen isn’t standing behind him anymore.

Then immediately he frowns. Louis hadn’t been told he was stopping by? A heavy weight settles in his stomach, crushing the butterflies with a sour taste. “I can go?”

“No, no, you stay right where you are.” Valarie directs him before turning to cajole Louis. “I invited him over. He’s got a good voice, good technique with the guitar. Might be what you’re looking for. You know, for those songs that you’ve been writing. The ones that you haven’t been able to put in an album because you’ve said the voices just aren’t right.”

It doesn’t seem to appease Louis. His frown gets deeper, brows furrowing as if he is about to berate Valarie again.

That’s not what Harry wants. Clearing his throat, he interrupts Louis before he can get started. “I, uh, can go if you want me to.”

Louis’s unfocused eyes flick back to Harry. It unnerves Harry a little, but he shoves it aside, forcing himself to inch towards the door.

“No, you’re fine,” Louis grumbles from his place on the piano. “If anything it’s these two nosy idiots who should know better than to drag people into _my_ business.”

“Aww,” Valarie says and runs a hand through his mussed hair. Louis visibly twitches like he wants to prevent himself from flinching but doesn’t succeed. “Thanks, Sour Patch.”

“Valarie.” Owen pries his band mate off of Louis. “We’ll be out in the living room so we don’t bother you guys.”

Surprisingly, Valarie lets Owen whisk her out the room without protest, but not without a wink at Harry. Except, it leaves Harry at a loss of how to address Louis.

It’s Louis that breaks the oppressing silence dividing the two of them. “Did they drag you here?”

“No?” Harry clears his throat when he realizes he’s questioning himself. “No. They didn’t. I ran into them at the bar during Open Mic night yesterday,” he drifts off. That’s more than the information Louis asked for and the last thing Harry wants to do is bother the songwriter more.

“About that. I don’t know how much either of them have told you, but this isn’t a set thing. I’ll listen to what you have prepared since Val and Owen brought you here. But I reserve the right to cut you off whenever.”

“That’s fine,” Harry acknowledges, unzipping his guitar case.

“What song are you playing?”

Harry hesitates for a moment. Should he play “Torrent”, knowing that that this is _the_ songwriter? At the same time, this is Reed, the wry stranger from the café.

“I’ll stick with ‘Midnight Again’.”

Reed hums, before standing and ambling his way to the couch with ease. “If you want to sit on the piano chair or the couch, go ahead. Begin when you’re ready.”

Swallowing, Harry stares at his fingerboard. His skin itches as if there are ants running over it again and again. He closes his eyes, takes a breath. And strums.

He lets the worn song cloak him, the notes streaming languidly past his fingers. This is comfortable. His foot begins to tap out the beat, a pulse to guide the notes.

As the last chord sings its last breath on his guitar, Harry opens his eyes. Louis sits before him, toying with his fingers.

“I think,” Louis says. His face is twisted into an unreadable expression, blue eyes darting here and there. “I think you lack voice technique.”

Harry’s stomach twists. “Okay.”

“But. I like the edge on your low notes. You’ve got a decent range.” Louis nods.

“Thanks.” Harry ducks his head even though he is certain Louis can’t track his movements too well, if at all.

“Yeah. If, and that’s a big if, things work out, we can see how far this goes.”

Unable to stop himself from grinning, Harry nods. “That’d be great.”

“You work in the café Valarie dragged me to the other day, right?” Louis asks, raking a hand through light curls.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Didn’t think I’d run into the two of you again.”

Louis flinches and Harry hurries to amend his words. “I’m not saying that the two of you are bad people – you guys are great people. Just didn’t seem like you guys tend to stay in one place.”

It makes Louis crack a wry smile and fiddle with the edge of the glass coffee table. “Glad you think we’re not bad people.”

“I’ve made a mess of things,” Harry sighs. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. I didn’t think I’d end up running into you either.” Louis turns his head away. “I should be the one saying sorry for saying my name is Reed.”

“Close enough.” Harry shrugs. “But why does Valarie call you ‘Candy Bar’? I get ‘Sour Patch’, but the candy bar doesn’t make sense.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Why do you think she calls me that?”

“I – oh.” Louis’s pieces – damn. That was a dumb question. Harry shoves his embarrassment aside to take in the artist a little more. The guy has a prickly deposition as is, even without Owen telling him before hand. It’s just the way he carries himself, tense with his shoulders up to his ears. Makes him feel a bit unwelcome if he thinks about it.

“Yeah, oh,” Louis says before standing to make his way to the piano. “How good are you with your guitar?”

Blinking, Harry looks down at the acoustic in his hands. Decent? “I’ve been playing for ten years.”

“How good are you at free-styling?” Louis asks. “Think of this as your test run.”

“I’d be up for it.” Harry adjusts his guitar strap.

 

Free-styling turns out not to be free styling at all. If anything, it turns into arguing over notes and chords.

“It doesn’t sound right like that,” Louis grumbles, poking out the same notes over and over again. “The lyrics ‘Frozen at the end of the hall, I’m lost, don’t know who I am anymore’ isn’t flowing right – not as it should be.”

Harry shakes his head. “I think it’s fine the way it is. Changing it back to C at the end isn’t going to make it better. All you’re doing is hitting a high note to make it sound like you’re ending the bar when it’s not what you want at this point. Look.”

He plays the chords deliberately slow, singing the words under his breath. When he reaches the end, he makes sure he plucks the C loudly. “See?”

Louis hits the C note harshly. “You know what?” He feels for his phone on top of the piano before telling it to record. “Play it again. From the start.”

Harry begins strumming again, half expecting the other man to make him stop. The piano starts up along side him.

“Sing,” Louis tells him, deviating away from the same notes they’ve been going over for the past hour.

“I--” Harry protests. He has nothing in front of him – no lyrics. They’ve been playing the same thing over and over again without writing anything down. Everything is on that phone!

“Just improvise and play.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry does as Louis orders.

“ _Frozen at the end of the hall,_

_I’m lost. Don’t know who I am anymore._

_There are traces, traces of what used to be_

_But all I got is what you’ve left behind._ ”

Pausing, he hums along with his guitar, mind drawing a blank. But Louis picks up where he leaves off, fingers fluttering against the keys. His baritone washes over Louis, velvet and smooth.

“ _Pictures strung from the ceiling,_

_The ghost of your smile still here._

_Your shadow, shadow still lingers beside me._

_But when the day comes, you were just a dream.”_

A slow clap halts Louis’s fingers on the piano, a mistaken note jarring Harry’s concentration. The twang from his guitar makes Louis flinch as he stops recording.

“Sorry, sorry,” Valarie says, a genuine smile directed at Harry. He grins back at her, lifting his guitar strap off his neck. “As beautiful as that was, Louis, Stephanie wants a word with you at three remember? She’s here.”

Louis looks at her direction blankly before he nods. “Yeah, yeah. I forgot. She in the living room with Owen?”

“Yep.” Valarie pops the word.

When Louis hesitates, eyes flicking in Harry’s general direction, Harry sends him off with a wave. Though he is sure Louis doesn’t track his hand movement. “It’s fine. I should get going anyways.”

“I’ll see him out, don’t worry,” Valarie says to Louis.

“Thanks, Val.” Louis straightens his shoulders, tense and tight. “That’s not perfect. It’s rough at best, we’ll see what happens.”

Despite it, Harry can hear the underlying lilt of amusement. “You’re saying I should come back?” he guesses.

Louis gives him a small smile. “Sure. Take it as you will.” He ambles out the room without another word. Harry can’t help but watch him as he goes. There’s just something about him that sets off alarms in his head. It feels like the guy has a chip on his shoulder –but what?

“You know.” Valarie slips beside him. “Louis doesn’t usually let people help him out until he has a good idea of what he wants.”

“I didn’t,” Harry answers truthfully. He takes it as a cue to pack up his guitar.

“Mhmm,” Valarie says, placing a hand on her hip. “You’re a bit bland – it’s not a bad thing. Other people that we’ve brought over usually get through their piece before he tells them to leave. You spent what, five hours here?”

“I guess so.” Harry nods. It probably isn’t be a good idea to mention that they spent a solid amount of time arguing over notes on something that might not even turn into a song. So he doesn’t.

“Let me tell you what I think.” Valarie puts her hands on his shoulders and peers up at him. “I think you’ve got a genuinely good voice. No promises, but I think you can go somewhere.”

“Thanks.” Harry steps out of her hold to zip up his guitar.

“I mean it. If someone gave you a chance to break into the music industry, would you take it?”

“I,” He stops. This woman in front of him basically just handed him the opportunity to work with the man who wrote “Torrent”, a song that basically launched the career of Crowned Kings. At the same time, it’s probably Louis who can open the all the doors. “Who’s Louis?”

Valarie’s smile falls. “He’s an incredibly good friend of mine and someone who doesn’t know what he has on his hands. Louis is fantastic at what he does, writing music. But he’s a perfectionist. He has these beautiful pieces that he’s written, but won’t use them because he hasn’t found the right fit.”

“So you think I’ve got what he wants?”

The turquois haired woman shakes her head. “God. If only I knew. You may have be best chance out of everyone so far, but no. Knowing him, he’s going to say no.”

It hurts. “Would it be worth it then to give up everything for a chance, only to fail and not have anything to fall back on?”

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” Valarie berates, throwing up her hands. “You have to take a risk. It’s not like I’m asking you to give up your life.”

“You said it yourself,” Harry counters. “I’m bland.” And he’ll happily admit it. He is the guy who works behind the counter at a Border’s bookstore café, the twenty-two year old who graduated college with a degree in music theory like everyone else looking to break in.

“I know I don’t have the stage presence like Crowned Kings or Avery Fitzgerald. The farthest I’ve gone is Open Mic at Mikey’s. You’d be wasting your time on someone who doesn’t have experience.”

“So you’re not coming back?” Valarie demands.

Taking a breath, Harry picks up his guitar. “I didn’t say that.” This was a great opportunity. Getting to work with someone Louis’s caliber is – is otherworldly. “If he gives me the time of day, I’ll do it. But I don’t want to spring on him without him knowing again.”

Valarie just stares at him, dark cat eyes in slits. It sends chills down Harry’s spine so he looks away first.

“Thanks for giving me this opportunity. I really appreciate it.” He heads towards the door of the piano room before Valarie stops him.

“I hope everything works out.”

Harry turns to give her one last look. There’s a smile on her face, but her eyes flash with something he can’t place. Giving her one last nod, he darts out the room as fast as he can without running.

As soon as he’s out of the complex, he does the only thing he can think of. Call Kate.

Thankfully, she picks up on the second ring. “Oh my god, how did it go?”

“I have no idea,” Harry lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I don’t know what just happened.”

“You’ve been there since ten!” Kate exclaims. “You know what? Where are you? We’re getting grease and you’re telling me what the hell happened in there.”

Food sounds like a great idea right now. “Yeah. Okay.”

 

“You’re joking.”

Harry looks up from his biscuit and takes in Kate’s distraught expression. She tugs on her mousy hair with both hands, mouth wide open. He has to resist the urge to stuff fries into her mouth.

“You are kidding me,” Kate repeats. “You seriously told that to Val? Harry! That was a one in a lifetime chance!”

“Believe me I know,” Harry sighs, placing his biscuit down. “The guy didn’t even know I coming. I just showed up to his place, unannounced.”

“Valarie and Owen invited you,” Kate reminds him.

“That doesn’t matter. _He_ wasn’t aware that I was going.”

Kate shoots him an unimpressed look. “I can’t believe you said no to Valarie. That was literally a once in a lifetime chance.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Don’t give me that.” Kate delivers a sharp slap to his hand when he reaches for her untouched chicken finger. “Are you pulling some of that ‘oh I’m too good to be cliché’ shit again? Cause if you are I am two seconds away from mauling your face with this fork.”

“This has nothing to do with that,” Harry groans. “I said that once about your magazines and how unrealistic love at first sight is, and you won’t let me live it down.”

“Because it makes sense for everything you do! Who in their right minds would give up this offer from a super star basically giving you an in into the music industry? Only you would. At this point, I’m not sure if you’re just stupid, or lacking confidence.”

“Well, you’re certainly not helping my confidence any,” Harry jokes.

Kate drops her head onto the table with a thunk. It’s a miracle she doesn’t hit any of her uneaten food on the way down. While she’s not looking, Harry takes the opportunity to steal a chicken finger from her plate. If she’s not going to eat it, he will.

“Got to play with Louis though. Pretty cool,” Harry muses around another bite of his chicken biscuit.

She shoots up at that, eyes wide. “You what? Louis Tomlinson?”

“I think?” Harry shrugs. “The one that wrote ‘Torrent’ for the Crowned Kings.”

“Harry. He’s the one who got If It Storms popular. His song, ‘Hurricane’ literally vaulted the group to the top of the charts after they won American Idol together. They were the last successful group out of that show, if I think about it. Then he went and fell off the face of the earth for a couple of years.”

“There’s something off about him,” Harry notes. “I think he’s blind.”

Across from him, Kate stills. “What?”

That’s what would make sense. Louis’s eyes don’t track everything; he approximates where the other people in the room are. But he can navigate pretty well around his own place. Then again, Owen had taken care to explain to him not to touch anything lest it messes with Louis.

“I guess that would make sense. He dropped out of the tours after the accident, but never really explained why. All we got from the tabloids was that he wanted to take time off for himself. He’s also disappeared from twitter and social media. No one really knows what he’s up to until Billboard releases a statement about how he’s collaborating with this artist or that artist.”

Snorting, Harry finishes his food and crumples the wrapper. “You and I know that tabloids and magazines are full of crap.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kate grouses. “But we missed the chance of seeing you in the tabloids and laughing at the ridiculous things they would come up with.”

“I got my five minutes of fame,” Harry chuckles. “And you got your five minutes of laughter this morning.”

“Fair. But I still wish you didn’t insult Valarie – it would have been nice to get her autograph.”

“Next time I meet a famous person, I’ll try to remember.”

 

_***_

When Saturday comes around, his conversation with Valarie is mostly forgotten. The café is relatively empty, with a couple of stragglers dawdling with their books instead of enjoying the gorgeous day outside.

If he had a choice, Harry would be one of those people frolicking on some field. The buzz of his phone in his back pocket jars him out of his melancholy thoughts. Making sure Kate isn’t around to scold him for checking his phone, he slips it out of his pocket.

It’s from an unknown number, but the message itself gives him pause.

 

 

 

> _You free to finish the song this afternoon?_

Hurriedly typing back, Harry casts a look around for customers.

 

 

 

> H: Is this Louis?
> 
> Louis: _Who else would it be? Unless you’re writing other songs with other people. Valarie gave me your number, by the way._

No one’s lining up by my door to do that, I assure you.

 

 

 

> Louis: _So are you busy? If you are, we can find a different time._
> 
> H: I’m at work right now. But if we’re talking later this afternoon, it should work.
> 
> Louis: 4 _or 5 okay?_
> 
> H: Yeah. Sounds good. Back at your place?

“Who’re you texting?” Kate peers over his shoulder.

Yelping, Harry pushes her away. “Nosy.”

“Oh come on. Out with it. Don’t think I didn’t see you leave with tall, dark, and handsome last night.” Kate makes grabby hands at his phone while she snickers.

“First, that’s a lie – he wasn’t that tall. Two, I didn’t leave with him. Three, can you really apply that to people in real life?”

“Ah, hah,” Kate sings and swipes his phone out of his unsuspecting hand, “You’re not saying that you’re not texting him.”

“Kate,” Harry sighs exasperatedly, just as Kate’s mouth drops open.

“Seriously, Harry? Seriously?” Kate shoves his phone back at him. “I honestly can’t with you.”

Grinning, Harry pockets his phone and restacks the coffee cups by his elbow as nonchalantly as he can. It’s not that big of a deal. This isn’t anything close to the caliber of what Valarie did for him last week, not by a long shot. Playing music with Louis was surprisingly fun, even if they did spend half their time arguing about notes.

“You’re texting Louis Tomlinson. What the actual living hell? And don’t give me any of that ‘it’s not a big deal’ crap. You didn’t tell me you were writing a song with him!”

“It slipped my mind?” Harry guesses. “I didn’t think it was going to be a thing.”

That much is true. After the push and pull with Valarie, toying around with the vibes of the song is the last thing he is going to be thinking about.

“I can’t believe you,” Kate mutters. “Only you would forget the conversation you had with someone famous and another person who used to be famous.”

“You forget that I don’t usually listen to whatever is on the Top 40 charts until you tell me to listen to them.”

“Whatever,” she shakes her head derisively. “Now go. Shoo.”

“Go where? I’ve still got an hour left here.”

“Somewhere I don’t have to see your smug little face.”

Chortling, Harry sidles towards the backroom. “I’ll go restock the pastries and desserts.”

His phone vibrates in his pocket just as the door swings closed. It’s hard to keep from smiling stupidly at it, anticipation bubbling under his skin.

 

 

 

> Louis: _Yeah. See you at 4._

 

He ends up standing in front of the closed doors at a loss for words. When he rang the doorbell ten minutes ago, there was no response. The last thing he wants to do though, is bother Louis. Checking his phone, Harry chews on his lip. It’s four ten already and he just spent thirty bucks on a taxi getting here. So he buzzes the bell again.

“Hello?”

Harry reels back in surprise before remembering himself. “Uh, this is Harry?”

“Harry?” Louis’s voice crackles across.

Heart sinking, Harry glances down at his phone. He knows he didn’t read the messages wrong. “You said to stop by to finish the song?”

“What?” Louis asks. “I – oh god dammit!”

Bewildered, Harry pulls away from the speaker just as the front door swings open.

“Did you buzz in earlier?” Louis yawns, scrubbing a hand through tousled caramel locks sheepishly.

“Yeah.” Harry nods before remembering. “I didn’t read the texts wrong did I?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Louis confesses, pulling out his phone. “I don’t think I texted anyone? Open texts.”

Harry stares until he realizes Louis is instructing his phone. There are earphones dangling down his neck, the phone likely reading the texts to him. So he waits, shuffling from one foot to the other, unsure whether or not he should leave.

“Knew Val got a hand on my phone when Owen told me he needed to talk to me about the songs for the tour,” Louis scowls.

Uncomfortable, Harry steps back. “I can leave if you want me to?”

There’s a beat before Louis sighs and steps back. He waves a hand for Harry to come in. “No point, you’re already here. Might as well try and get something done.”

“Sorry about this,” Harry apologizes. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

Louis shakes his head. “It’s Val. Don’t know what she’s thinking. She thinks it’ll be able to get me out there or something pigheaded like that.”

“What’s stopping you?” slips out of Harry’s mouth before he can think better of it.

Thankfully Louis only gives him a wry smile, one that doesn’t reach his unseeing eyes. “Have you seen what those two do on stage?”

Harry starts to shake his head before he curses himself mentally. “No.”

“Not a fan of If It Storms, huh.”

“I probably have heard their music,” Harry protests. Kate had taken the time over the course of the week to painstakingly remind him over and over again who Valarie and Owen are. “I don’t listen to the radio often?”

“That sounds like a question,” Louis quips. “But they’re choreographed. Prancing around stage, dancing, interactions, and the whole thing. I don’t do that.”

The unspoken _I can’t do that_ hangs heavily in the air.

“Would you if you could?” Harry asks tentatively. He may not know Valarie or Owen well, but he is more than willing to bet a month of his salary that they would modify their tour for Louis in a heartbeat.

“What is this, twenty questions?” Louis snorts, but obliges. “Touring was, what it was. Fun. But I got two years of little sleep, bumpy rides, and too close quarters.”

There’s a wistful note beneath Louis’s surly behavior, but he turns away from Harry, effectively ending the conversation. He leads Harry through the apartment, steps steady and tense.

The last time he was here, there wasn’t enough time to take in the apartment. The apartment is bare, cold white walls undecorated with little furniture cluttering up the walkway. Everything seems to have it’s own little niche, in their places even though Louis hadn’t known he was stopping by. Harry supposes it’s lucky that Louis is so neat. Otherwise, in the darkness of the unlit apartment, he’d trip over anything.

“Val seems to think you’re something special,” Louis starts again once they’re back in the piano room.

Halting, Harry blinks for a moment. For some reason, the room feels grander than it had been last time. Compared to the rest of the apartment he has seen, the room is well decorated. From the marble coffee table to the crimson curtains, the circular piano room is a stage to the rest of the apartment. At the same time, there’s something off. Dust clings to the surface of the obsidian piano, fingerprints marring the furnish wood.

Harry ducks his head and sets his guitar down for something to do. “Not really sure why to be honest.”

“So she’s told me.”

Ashamed, a flush rises to Harry’s cheeks as he replays the conversation.

“When she’s determined, she doesn’t stop until she gets her way or someone gets injured,” Louis muses as he drops onto the piano chair across from Harry.

“I’m going to assume that’s why she took your phone?”

Louis offers him a tilted smile at that. “Smart one, aren’t you? Good luck with that.”

“Thanks.”

Silence falls upon them, but Louis doesn’t seem inclined to play the piano. Instead, he stares in Harry’s direction an empty smile playing on his lips. Harry finds himself looking away and unzipping his guitar case for something to do.

“You know, I haven’t written a song that’s reached the chart in ages.”

That’s a surprise. If It Storms has songs that’s made it onto the charts for the past three years, according to Kate’s magazines. When Harry says as much, Louis laughs harshly.

“I wrote those songs alright. But nothing clicks anymore. They’re just using songs that didn’t make it into previous albums. I haven’t written a _good_ song in two years.”

Harry doesn’t know what it is, but something unfurls in his stomach. It’s burns and he tries to swallow the words back in his throat as he listens to Louis talk.

“Val doesn’t know what she’s doing getting into _my_ business, and Owen’s just going along with it. I’m not going to get back on stage – I’m running out of things to write.”

“You seemed fine the last week,” Harry tries to reason. Even he can hear that it’s a flat answer.

That makes Louis laugh again – it’s forced, that much Harry can tell. “That’s not good enough. That song is nothing, worth nothing. It’s unfinished, unrefined, and for good fun. What can the likes of a burnt out singer and a naïve dreamer do? It’s not good enough.”

It stings. Gritting his teeth, Harry zips his guitar back up and slings it across his back. Even if this is an opportunity, it’s not worth his time.

“Where you going?”

What makes Harry laugh is how Louis has the gall to sound confused. As if he doesn’t know. That’s what makes him turn around and _push_ back.

“I don’t know, it sounds like you’re just sitting around acting bitter while Valarie and Owen try to put you back on your feet. And you just sit here, moaning about what you can’t do. Great lot you’re doing in return for them.”

“I’m not bitter. You don’t know anything,” Louis growls, voice low.

Harry crosses the room and into Louis’s space; close enough to touch. Anger simmers under his skin as he clenches his fist tight in his pocket. “Listen to yourself. You’re basically wallowing in your ‘woe is me’ feelings and you can’t even get past that. Valarie and Owen don’t deserve you, good songwriter or not.”

Louis shoots up then, blue eyes flashing. They’re close enough Harry can see the dashes of blue in his irises. “You don’t know anything about this industry. You think they care about whether or not you can sing? It’s not about that. It’s about whether or not you can swing an image. They don’t need me to write. They can go get a conforming songwriter who doesn’t put any substance in his works.”

“This is what you don’t get.” He takes a breath; he tries. Except all it does is make the fire in his stomach burn higher. “Get off your pedestal, man. You’re not better than everyone else in the industry.”

“You of all people telling me this? Who do you think you are?” Louis retorts.

“I’m naïve, I know. But I don’t need to know how the industry rolls to see you’re sitting here feeling sorry for yourself. You’ve got people like Valarie literally scouting talent for you,” Harry hisses, unable to reign his temper in. “You’re basically trashing your closest friends – for what? And you’re blind if you can’t see that!”

The blood drains from his face when he realizes what slipped out of his mouth. “I-”

Louis sags and takes a step back. He stumbles when he hits his foot on the back of the piano chair and flinches back when Harry tries to steady him.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Harry tries to apologize, stomach roiling.

“Get out,” Louis grunts.

Harry doesn’t need another push. Scooping up his guitar, he scampers to the doorway of the piano room before something makes him look back.

Sitting by himself, Louis looks so small with his shoulders hunched in and his head ducked down. It’s as if all the fight from earlier drained out of him and left a deflated skin behind.

It’s hard to convince himself that he doesn’t care when he knows he caused it.

 

Harry knows a couple of things. He knows he screwed up massively yesterday, as much as he would like to not remember it, he remembers it. Second, he knows Valarie Kohfman should not be standing in front of his apartment door at ten in the morning.

“How did you get my address?” He blurts. Sue him, he hasn’t had his coffee yet.

Valarie shoots him an unimpressed glare. “Your lovely co-worker, Kate. You know, I thought you were a nice boy. But turns out you know how to be a dick too.”

Oh. He deserves that. Looking at the ground for a moment, Harry bites his bottom lip. His own words ring in his hand, Louis’s despondent face flashing forward unwillingly. When he gets the chance – if he ever sees the songwriter again – he’ll apologize. Apologizing by text is too insubstantial, in his opinion.

“I know I shouldn’t have said those things,” Harry starts, but Valarie puts up a hand and cuts him off, tapping her crimson nails against the doorframe.

“You’re a dick, but I unfortunately think that you’re talented dick who has the capability to do what I need you to do.”

“Excuse me?” Harry splutters. He takes the time to peer around Valarie to make sure none of his neighbors are eavesdropping. The last thing he needs is his neighbors thinking he’s having a disagreement with a nonexistent girlfriend.

“Look here, Coffee.” Valarie pokes a long nail into his chest. “Louis didn’t tell me exactly what you said to him, but it’s certainly done a number. I don’t know whether or not to threaten you or to thank you.”

Now Harry is even more confused. The threatening he knows he deserves, one hundred percent. “Why would you thank me?”

“Let’s put it this way, I haven’t seen him react that way in a while.”

“I don’t see how that’s a good thing,” Harry objects. “Look, Valarie, I don’t want to be rude, but I think you’ve done enough. Louis clearly doesn’t want me to work with him. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I don’t think it’s going to work.”

The singer doesn’t look convinced. If anything she looks more than ready to fight, with her mouth pursed and arms crossed. But Harry doesn’t. This is unfamiliar territory and he knows next to nothing about her or Louis for that matter. What he said yesterday did enough damage and this might only lead to more trouble. That’s not something he wants to touch.

“No, you look,” Valarie demands. “I meant it when I said you could make it. You’ve got a good voice for it. Unique.”

That goes against everything she said earlier. First she leads him one way, and now the next. Her still gaze makes him shiver, but he forces himself not to shuffle his feet. Don’t bend just yet, he thinks to himself. Not until she clears a couple things up.

“I thought you said I was bland,” Harry counters. “You also said that I needed more vocal training.”

“If you can’t take constructive criticism, you’re not going to go anymore.” Valarie snaps. She narrows her feline eyes and gives him a one over. “I did say you were bland. But you if you think the most successful singers still don’t have vocal coaches, you’re dead wrong. I don’t know what you’re listening to, but autotune is everywhere. You get the right producers, the management, and the PR, you’ll get pretty far. They’ll get you the vocal coaches to get you further.”

“What’s your point?” Harry concedes with a sigh. His traitorous mind can’t help but whisper how Louis was right about this woman’s determination.

“My point?” Valarie scoffs before she leans in. “I’m going to ask you one last time, and this time answer me honestly. If I give you a chance into the music industry, gave you the opportunity to enter the life everyone dreams of, would you do it?”

Harry opens his mouth to say yes but stops himself. There’s just something about her that makes him nervous. The offer itself is sketchy; it’s too good to be true – Valarie isn’t a music producer. There’s nothing that links her to a production company. He doesn’t know what it is, but something nags at the back of his mind and there is no way she isn’t going to want something in return.

“What’s in it for you?”

“You’re being difficult,” Valarie complains, leaning her hip against the doorway. She sags dramatically against it, pretending to swoon. “What ever will I do?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Harry makes to close the door. This is a waste of his time. Immediately crimson lacquered nails grasp the door, stopping the motion with surprising strength.

“There’s little I want. A new musician? We need new blood, new ideas. That’s what I want.”

Who’s we, Harry wonders. “I don’t believe you.”

Valarie smirks. “You know, you’re pretty smart too. College boy with a pretty face and smarts to match it. I’ll see you around.”

She straightens and turns to amble down the hallway before Harry can make himself out of the confused stupor.

“I never said yes!”

The woman looks back and arches a perfect eyebrow. “Oh, don’t I know that, Coffee. And it wasn’t a ‘no’ either. And I promise you, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head of yours,” she pauses before singing, “Last chance before I decide for you.”

“I don’t want to be a pawn,” Harry finds himself saying instead. He can’t bring himself to say no, as much as he wants to prove to himself he can do it.

“Oh, no. You misunderstand me. No one is a pawn. We’re all players. We play the same game everyone does. You just can’t let yourself get _played_.”

With that, Valarie nimbly picks her way down the steps with a cheeky wave.

“What the actual hell?” Harry mutters aloud.

Then he scrapes a hand over his mouth. There are two more things he can say about his life. The fact that he’s sure that what just happened isn’t considered normal – what kind of celebrity drops at his door? Him of all people? Secondly, Kate is a traitor; he needs a new best friend.

God. It’s too early to deal with life without coffee.

 

_***  
_

The rest of May passes by surprisingly slow without another incident. Harry doesn’t know what he expects, after Valarie dropped by three weeks ago. Maybe it was all the hype generated by having a star so close by – even though he had no idea who If It Storms was until Kate gave him the complete history about the band.

Chortling at the memory, Harry shakes his head and gets set to leave Borders. He got the closing shift tonight, while Kate had the morning shift. At least he didn’t have to endure listening to the same pop songs over and over again off her iPod.

The warm air greets him when he steps outside, a sharp contrast to the air conditioned café he’s been stuck in all night. Yawning, he stretches his hands over his head, frowning when he feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as if he’s being watched. So he turns.

And yelps.

Leaning beside the side of the building is a man with a dark beanie pulled over messy locks. His Ray Bans take up half his face, but doesn’t hide the inset frown on his face.

It takes Harry a few moments to realize this is Louis. “What are you doing here?”

Louis doesn’t answer. He just pushes himself heavily off the side of the wall before leaning on the white walking stick in his left hand. “Took you long enough.”

“Sorry, some people actually have to work,” leaves Harry’s mouth before he can think better of it.

Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to faze Louis. “I came to apologize.”

“You – what?” Harry blinks. “For what?”

“My attitude. And Valarie told me you were a smart one.”

“No,” Harry quickly backtracks. “That’s not what I meant. I should be the one apologizing. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

The side of Louis’s mouth twitches. “And I was the one who provoked you.”

Oddly touched, Harry looks away from Louis for a moment. “Thanks, I guess.”

“I’m not done,” Louis announces, tapping his walking stick against Harry’s leg. “I want to know what you’re doing with Val.”

“Why?” Harry questions. It’s not like she’s talked to him since then, so it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“Defensive. Valarie likes to put plans into motion. And she tends to make them half baked, which means Owen or I have to bail her out somewhere down the line.”

“I’m not defensive,” Harry says, voice level. “I haven’t seen Valarie since she stopped by my apartment to tell me that I was a dick.”

Louis taps his walking stick against the ground again, silent. Even if he wasn’t wearing glasses, Harry doubts that he would be able to see Louis’s eyes in the dark. His skin itches with anticipation and he shuffles back and forth on his feet. It doesn’t bother him that much that he can’t see Louis’s eyes – it’s just that it’s so much more difficult to read him.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks at last. He should be on his way to catch the bus, not standing here awkwardly with someone who likely hates his guts. “The real reason.”

Louis’s mouth tightens. “Val’s planning something. And I don’t like being in the dark. I figured that it had something to do with ‘that Coffee boy with that unique voice’.”

“I’m not part of it,” Harry denies. He’s not. Why Louis would decide to confront him is beyond him. Sighing, he rubs the back of his neck and begins to make his way down the flat steps in front of the store. This is a waste of his time; especially since it seems like all Louis will do is accuse him of things he isn’t part of.

“Where are you going?” Louis asks from behind him.

Away from you is what he wants to say, but it’s not worth the trouble. “I need to catch my bus home,” he says instead.

“I’m not done.”

“Well, you better finish quick.” Harry checks his phone.

“I’m not going to pick a fight with you. I came here to apologize,” Louis repeats.

This time, Harry doesn’t stop himself from scoffing. “The first part of the conversation was an apology. You’re accusing me of doing something different entirely.”

There’s silence from Louis until gentle tapping interrupts it. That’s what makes him turn around, only to come face to face with an uncomfortable Louis Tomlinson. The songwriter has his shoulders hunched up to his ears, head ducked to the ground.

“I just think,” Louis pauses. Harry can see his shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. “Whatever Valarie is planning, I think you should be prepared.”

It stops Harry short. Of all the things Louis could have said, that isn’t one of the things that topped the list. Unsure of what to say, he frowns. “I didn’t make a deal with her. Whatever she said to you isn’t true.”

Unfortunately, Louis visibly bristles and takes a step back. “You know, between you and Val, I’d trust Val over you in a heartbeat.”

“Thanks,” Harry drawls. “I wouldn’t have guessed that. Anything else I need to know or can I leave?”

Louis doesn’t hesitate this time. “Nothing else. Don’t say I didn’t warn--”

 _Bzzt_!

Both of them jerk at the sound of Harry’s phone. When he checks his screen, a rush of relief rushes through him. Sometimes Kate has fantastic timing.

“Sorry,” Harry apologizes even though he is lying through his teeth. “I should take this.”

Louis’s frowns deepens, but waves Harry to go ahead. “Whatever. Good luck.” The soft _tap, tap, tap_ echoes his steps as Harry answers Kate.

“What--” is all he manages before Kate interrupts him.

There’s another buzz that makes Harry look up. Louis is back under the shadow of the bookshop, pulling out his own phone to answer it.

“Have you seen it? Better question, are you home yet?” Kate babbles. “Holy shit – please tell me you’ve seen it.”

Off to the side, Louis barks out into his own phone, “What?”

“I haven’t heard anything. I was closing today – if you’ve forgotten.” He feels a bit rotten for snapping at her, but his mood is down in the gutter right now.

Thankfully, Kate either chooses to ignore it or doesn’t even hear it at all. “Valarie Kohfman on twitter. She tweeted you!”

“I don’t have a twitter, Kate.”

“I’m not explaining it right,” Kate groans, clearly frustrated. “Valarie tweeted about you. She sent a video of you writing a song with someone. I’m going on a limb and saying that’s Louis Tomlinson. Which, what the actual _fuck_? Why the hell didn’t you tell Pete or me that you were going through talks of a contract with someone?” Kate bites out at the end.

“Come on, Harry. Man, you know better than that,” Pete calls out from somewhere on Kate’s line.

“What the fuck?” Louis growls out in the background. “What the fuck did you do, Valarie?”

“I didn’t – I haven’t written anything with Louis. All we’ve done is argue.” Harry denies, shaking his head even though Kate and Pete can’t see him. “Promise. I swear, I’m the most clueless out of the three of us.”

“This is what she tweeted, Harry. ‘Check out Harry Styles! Pretty talented at singing don’t you think? Hashtag new talent, hashtag jam session.’ She also uploaded a video.”

Just as he opens his mouth to tell her that Valarie never recorded anything, piano and guitar filter out of his speaker.

The notes swoop and swell, the guitar notes twanging gently along with the swaying piano melody. There are a few notes that stick out, but the piano hums along with the guitar chords naturally.

It’s familiar, but he can’t place it. As soon as he opens his mouth to let Kate know exactly that, he hears his own voice.

“ _Frozen at the end of the hall,_

_I’m lost. Don’t know who I am anymore._

_There are traces, traces of what used to be_

_But all I got is what you’ve left behind._ ”

He’s floored when the verse stops. Valarie shouldn’t have this – the only one that recorded this was Louis.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” Harry answers with a dry mouth. He doubts Louis would have given this to Valarie, considering how the two of them continuously bump heads.

“Do you know how many followers Valarie has?”

“No.”

“Twenty-nine point nine million followers, Harry. Do you know how many favorites and retweets that has after an hour?”

“In case you wanted to know, Owen Helms just retweeted her,” Pete chimes in.

“No.” Harry swallows.

“Thirty-three thousand favorites, twenty thousand retweets. This is huge. Most people on Tumblr are pretty sure you’re the mystery man that she was seen out with at the bar the other day. Ton of speculation going on that you’re going to be signed with her group or something. And with Owen’s retweet, your vocals are getting out there to their fans.”

“You’re the one telling me,” Harry reminds her. “I’m more out of the loop that you are.”

Kate says something, but he misses it when a familiar Range Rover pulls up to a screeching halt across from him.

“I got to go,” he says absently.

When the windows roll down, he’s only half surprised to see Valarie in the passenger seat.

“Oi, you two chuckleheads. Get in,” Valarie smirks. “We’ve got a lot of things to talk about.”

 

“What is going on?”

“Why the fuck did you do that!”

Harry and Louis speak simultaneously as soon as the passenger doors close. Valarie spins around to face them, offering Harry a saccharine sweet smile.

“First of all, I told you I was going to get stuff done.” She doffs an imaginary hat at him. “And Sour Patch, stop crying. From what you’ve told me, that wasn’t even a ‘song’.”

“That was my music,” Louis splutters. “It could have gone somewhere!”

Harry turns to stare incredulously at the songwriter. “You told me it couldn’t have gone anywhere.”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that she stole my music.”

“Hold up,” Harry protests. “I helped you write part of that as well.”

“I did not steal your music! It’s still yours – just consider it a ‘leak,’ or a friend helping out another friend.”

“Fucking – Valarie! That’s not helping---”

“How did you even get your hands---”

“For god’s sake, shut up!” Owen roars.

Heart pounding, Harry jolts backwards. He hadn’t even known it was Owen driving them – hell, he didn’t even know Owen was with them. Beside him, Louis trembles, eyes flashing when they pass under a streetlight. His Ray Bans must have fallen off when they were arguing.

“Thank you,” Owen breathes. “We’re heading to a hotel that our producer and manager are waiting for us. I know this is a bit backwards, but we just got the go ahead for this.” He looks up at the rearview mirror to meet Harry’s eyes. “Stephanie, our manager, is excited to meet you.”

“I-I, okay,” Harry stutters, before falling silent.

This makes no sense. Staring out the window, he watches as a few other cars fly by, their headlights burning past. These three are established musicians, songwriter and singers a like. What do they want to do with him? He’s like every twenty-two year old who dreams about making it big, so why him?

He can see their reflections in the mirrors. While he doesn’t listen to their music, just sitting in the same car is enough for him to see their appeal. Valarie, with her neon hair, is the lioness of the three. A quick glance away from the window to the mirror tells him the dark skinned woman is blatantly watching his reaction. Swallowing, he focuses his gaze on the other singer.

The carrot haired singer seems to be the loyal dog in the equation. If Valarie is the alpha, Harry would guess Owen would be her beta. Of the times he has interacted with Owen, the other man seems to back Valarie up. Somehow he doubts it was Owen’s idea to kidnap him and Louis in the late evening. Another glance at the mirror makes him meet Owen’s eyes. The singer offers him a reassuring smile before redirecting his attention back to the road.

“Doesn’t explain why you had to take my music,” Louis grumbles after another moment.

“If there’s anytime not to be Sour Patch, it would be right now,” Valarie shoots back immediately. “That was the only recent audio that _I_ had of him, and that would have to do.”

“You couldn’t have recorded another audio of him singing without my music?”

“What’s wrong with him singing it?” Valarie counters. “We sing your music in concerts – what’s so different?”

Harry watches the two of them bicker with half lidded eyes. Why Valarie is suddenly defending him is beyond his comprehension.

“Because it’s not finished!” Louis exclaims. “That’s my work that’s not finished and you’re using it without my permission!”

At that, Valarie swivels back around to face the front. “You’ll thank me later, promise.”

Snorting, Louis turns away from them, leaning his head against the window. The rest of the car ride passes in an uneasy silence. The tension sends prickles down Harry’s skin. His leg jiggles as the streetlights flash by, his head gently nodding against the car window. They’re in the heart of Baltimore City when his eyes slip closed, the bright towers eliminating any chance at catching a glimpse of starlight.

A sharp tap to his leg jolts him awake. “Wha?”

“We’re here,” Louis answers, just as groggily as him. He gingerly steps out of the car and pointedly pulls away from Valarie when she places his arm in hers.

“Oh don’t be a wet blanket,” Valarie sniffs. “Don’t blame me when you trip.”

“Don’t worry,” Louis retorts. “I won’t.”

Harry slips out of the car, easing around the bickering two, only to be pulled aside into the hotel by Owen. The bleached sanitized scent like every hotel floods Harry’s senses. Before he can take it all in, Owen tugs him towards the whitewashed conference room on the side.

“Sorry about those two,” Owen sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Have they,” Harry waves a hand as he yawns, hoping Owen gets his gist.

Nodding, Owen grins. “Even before Louis’s, you know, they would be at each other’s throats one second and be fine in the next.” The smile evaporates. “But they’ve been going at it a little more recently, you know. Valarie is pushing a little harder now, I think. She wants to get him back into the scene. Maybe not the singing and touring, but at least back into the songwriting and get the Louis we used to have. We want to share this experience with him, you know?”

No, he doesn’t, but Owen looks so hopeful, he just nods.

“Good man.” Owen claps him on the shoulder before he peers over him to yell at the other two. “Oi! Steph, Simon, Joan, and Derrick are waiting for us.”

“Why do you even need me here?” Louis complains, but follows Valarie obediently, his walking stick tapping a gentle rhythm.

“Oh my god,” Valarie groans, throwing up her hands. “You’re already here. Deal with it!”

The door flings open not a second later. A tousled dark haired man peers out at them. “Thought I heard you three outside.”

“Derrick!” Valarie coos, throwing her arms around the man. “It’s been so, so long.”

“Not that long,” Derrick wheezes. “It’s been… only a month?” His eyes light on Harry and brighten further. “You must be Harry that I’ve been hearing about.”

Floored, all Harry manages to do is nod. Why does this man know who he is? He’ll happily attribute it to the dark skinned woman currently strangling that man though.

When Valarie finally releases Derrick, he ushers the four of them into the conference room. Two women and another man stand up when they enter, all similarly dressed in black suits.

Harry can’t help but swallow in apprehension. Everything around and in this room feels so official. From the black swivel chairs and long furnished oak table to four people dressed in suits, he feels so out of place. Looking down at himself, he grimaces. Even compared to the two singers and songwriter, wearing his café uniform seems unprofessional.

“Louis, it’s lovely to see you again,” the taller of the two women speaks first, but she makes no move to physically greet him.

Louis offers the woman a tight smile in response. It looks a bit more like he’s baring his teeth in Harry’s opinion. Couple that with the songwriter’s white-knuckled grip on his walking stick, it’s sure that Louis doesn’t want to be here.

The woman fixes her startling cerulean eyes on Harry and smiles at him. Harry shudders involuntarily. “And Harry! So glad to finally meet you in person. Valarie has said so much about you. I’m Stephanie and I work with XEPA Management.”

“And I’m Joan,” the other woman pipes up. “And I’m with Magna Productions.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Great,” Stephanie claps her hands together. Harry jumps, half startled by the noise. “Take a seat, Harry. We’ve got a proposal for you. Sound good?”

“Do I need a lawyer for this?” Harry asks, wary. Lawyers are expensive and something he can’t conjure up out of thin air. Not to mention, he doesn’t know who or what he is looking for.

“That’s where I come in,” the last suit stands up and motions at Harry to sit down beside him. “I’m Simon and I’m your lawyer.”

This is incredibly fishy. Harry stares at the lawyer, feet stuck to the ground. “I don’t have a lawyer.”

“I took the liberty to call a lawyer for you,” Owen explains. “I had a feeling you’d need one. All expenses will be paid, should you decide that you’re okay with Simon as your lawyer.”

Unease shifts in Harry’s stomach and he still doesn’t move. He has the sneaking suspicion that all of this was planned even before Valarie leaked the video. There is no way they could have gotten everyone assembled in a fortnight. Then the last person he expects interrupts his train of thought.

“Simon’s not with them. He’s with me.” Louis taps past him and sinks into a seat. “He’s my lawyer and isn’t associated with any of them.”

“How do I know you’re not in on this?” Harry mumbles under his breath, soft enough that only Louis hears. But he moves at last.

The side of Louis’s mouth ticks up. Once Harry is seated beside him, he leans over and whispers, “You don’t. But I’m the best option for you.”

Grudgingly, Harry sits back and folds his hands tightly. As much as he hates to admit it, Louis is right. Doesn’t make this any less suspicious though. Plus, since when is Louis willing to help him out? The last time he checked, they were arguing half an hour ago.

“Now that we’ve got that covered,” Stephanie continues. Smoothing down her jacket, she takes a seat. “Valarie has showed us what you can do on the guitar. We took the opportunity over the past month to listen to uploaded videos on YouTube from Battle of the Bands a couple years ago and the Open Mic Nights that you have played over the past year or two.”

“And we think you’ve got potential,” Joan continues. “I’m sure Valarie has already told you this. She’s informed us that she thinks you can make it into the top tier of the music industry. Derrick?”

The man dips his head and doesn’t look up at him. “I think you’ve got what it takes – but I’m sure you’ve already heard that countless times. You’re going to need to do a lot of things if you want to make it into the industry. Not just a producer and all that good stuff. You’re going to need media training and stunts.”

“Thank you, Derrick,” Stephanie interjects with a sharp look. “That all comes later. What I want to know is whether or not you think you’ve got the commitment to carry this way through.”

Joan pulls out a thick packet of paper. “This isn’t an easy decision, we know. But we think we can help you get where you want to go in the music industry. Imagine playing in a stadium, an audience of thousands of people waiting to hear _you_. _Your_ music. And they’re there for _you_ , not for the inadequate drinks that they can get at every bar.”

“So what you’re saying,” Harry begins. Apprehension swirls in the pit of his stomach. Something’s up – there’s no way all these suits would be here in a conference room unruffled and utterly prepared.

His vision swims a bit, so he shakes his head to try and get rid of the cobwebs. Focus, Harry. This is important. He can almost hear Kate’s voice in his ear, whispering for him not to throw it away. The alarm bells in his head are still going off, his pulse thrumming as he presses his thumb against his wrist.

“What we’re saying is that we want to sign you,” Joan asserts. “I’m thinking we’ll pay you to produce an EP, release that on iTunes, and then see what we’re going to go from there. This is a trial run, Harry. If you take off, from the EP, then we’ll talk albums.”

“Hold up,” Simon interrupts with a wave of his hand. “I’ll need to look over the contract.”

“Simon, Simon,” Stephanie clicks her tongue. “I sent you this document ages ago.”

“I need to make sure my client isn’t signing any agreement that he doesn’t understand.”

“I was in the middle of explaining it,” Joan protests.

Simon holds up both his hands, motioning for her to continue.

“Like I was saying, Harry. We’re going to have you do an EP, released by the end of the year. We’ll pay you a percentage of the profits from the EP. That said, most of the money from the songs you release would go to paying for the management and the production of the EP. This is a one year contract.”

“Any questions?” Stephanie asks, blood-red lips pulled back into a smile.

“Let me explain a few things to my client,” Simon quips and motions at Harry. “If you decide to sign this contract, it’s good for a year. Breaking this contract,” he flips through a couple of pages, “requires paying both XEPA and Magna back for the amount they invest in the project. Furthermore, you will also pay a sizable portion of your profits to Magna should you leave the contract early.”

When Simon stops, Harry swallows audibly. Something sticks in the back of his throat as if he swallowed a jar of honey.

“Do I have to meet a sales quota?” He manages. Taking a breath through his nose, Harry tries to calm his pulse. Think rationally, don’t screw this up. This is as important as it gets – there’s a literal contract in front of him, thick with flagged yellow Post-Its.

“Good question,” Simon nods. “No. The only requirement is that you finish recording the EP and release it within the time frame.”

“And that you comply with our suggestions while we promote and raise your profile within the music industry,” Stephanie chimes.

“Am I expected to write my own songs?” He doesn’t have a problem writing songs. But writing and recording them himself might be a bit more difficult.

“Glad you asked that.” Joan leans forward. “We figured that you might run into a couple of difficulties there. So we assigned a songwriter for you.”

All heads swivel to face Louis. Harry can feel the songwriter tense under the silence, muscles coiling as if he is ready to spring out of his chair.

“Me,” Louis confirms flatly when no one else offers a sound.

“Yes,” Joan and Stephanie agree simultaneously.

Suddenly Louis’s chair flies backwards. It clips Harry in the elbow, but the songwriter stomping to the door quickly distracts him.

“Louis,” Valarie tries. She and Owen both stand as if to stop him.

“NO!” Louis roars.

Everything stops. It’s as if the room is frozen into silence; all the suits sit stock still except for Derrick who has his hands pressed against his downturned mouth. Harry holds his breath, heart stuttering in his chest. Yet in the back of head, he can’t help but wish Louis hadn’t spoken. Shoving down the hurt, he digs his thumb into his thigh.

“I don’t want to be a part of this,” Louis growls. “No more songs – I’ve told you so many times. I’m done after this contract – I have nothing to write, nothing that you guys will want. I owe you nothing.”

“But what about the--” Valarie starts, but Owen cuts her off with a hand on her shoulder.

“You have one more year left under your contract,” Joan says, voice deathly soft. “Until you finish up this year, you’re still under this contract. Whatever you’ve written is legally under Magna Productions unless you want to pay the price of breaking the contract. Is that what you want?”

Louis’s jaw works and pulses. “No.”

“I’m glad we have reached a consensus,” Joan leans back in her seat. “Sit back down, Louis. Now, what did I hear about songs?”

“You heard nothing,” Louis growls. He makes no move from his place by the door. Joan challenges him with a skeptical eyebrow at him, but doesn’t press any further.

“Now that we’ve addressed that,” Derrick coughs uncomfortably. “Does each party understand the contract?”

“Just to make it clear,” Simon says. “My clients are required to work together should Harry sign the contract. Louis is only accountable for the EP and nothing else, should he decide not to renew his contract.”

“Correct,” Stephanie concedes. “So what do you say, Harry?”

“Could I have a couple of days to think about this?” Harry asks meekly. God knows he needs more time. This is huge -

“No.” Joan doesn’t offer him a smile. “You don’t understand. The music industry is a fast paced world – it doesn’t wait for anyone. I’m sure someone has told you several times, that this opportunity doesn’t come often, much less from such a high profile scouting group like Valarie and Owen. You’re incredibly lucky they had an eye out for you.”

Uncertainty replaces the apprehension as he watches the producer. “I know.”

“Do you?” Joan asks. “Do you? We are offering you a once in a lifetime chance. So many people in your position would jump at the chance to work with us – yet you don’t. And that’s what makes you valuable.”

Somewhere in the background, Louis mutters something inaudible. To Harry, it sounds suspiciously like, “Don’t fall for it.”

Stephanie must have heard the same thing if the glare she shoots him is anything to go by. “This would make you one of a kind, Harry. And that’s what we’re dedicated to doing. Our first priority is to make sure you succeed.”

Biting his lip, Harry chances a glance at everyone in the room. The producer, manager, lawyer, and singers all watch him expectantly. Derrick’s hands constantly run over the edge of the table, over and over again, like a nervous tick. But for some reason, Harry’s gaze continues to drift back over to Louis’s blank expression.

It’s a no brainer that Louis doesn’t want to work with him. Yet he also knows that the proposition sitting before him isn’t normal. He’d be incredibly stupid if he let the offer pass by – he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. Working with a resistant songwriter might be a pain, but this chance might just be worth it. Wrenching his eyes away from the furiously blank songwriter, Harry redirects his attention to the contract.

And signs on the dotted line.

 

“Thanks for stopping down here on such short notice.”

Harry yawns as the seven other people mill around him. Valarie floats around pressing kisses to cheeks while Owen shakes hands with the producer and manager.

Even though he is exhausted, it still feels like his skin is buzzing. It’s like viewing everything underwater, like they’re on the surface and he’s seeing everything through a film. Just – surreal.

[I think I just got signed] he types out a text numbly to Kate.

Even though it’s nearly two thirty in the morning, she fires back immediately. [ _You’re kidding._ ]

[Dunno if I’m dreaming yet.]

[ _WITH WHO?!?!_ ]

[XEPA Management and Magna Productions. Wanna work your social media voodoo on that?]

[ _Omg_ ]

[… _Valarie totally hooked you up with that didn’t she._ ]

“I’m looking forward to seeing what we can do for you,” Stephanie says from somewhere above him.

Jumping and knocking his shin against the table, Harry looks up. He takes her hand and shakes it while trying not to yawn. “Thank you. I hope I can meet your expectations.”

“I hope so as well.” She gives him a tightlipped smile. “Joan? We should be off.”

Joan sidles up to Stephanie and offers Harry a slight nod. When the door of the conference room slips shut behind them, he can’t suppress the shiver that runs through him. It’s not like he signed his soul away. This is a good thing, he reminds himself. This is the event that’s going to get him out of working in the café.

When he looks back at the rest of the crew, he is stunned by the image in front of him.

Derrick has Louis wrapped up in an embrace, arms tight around each other. The suit has his lips pressed against Louis’s temple for a second before he pulls away.

In all honesty, Harry isn’t sure why he is surprised. It’s just that Louis has always struck him as a prickly person, not unlike a porcupine. He wants to look away, but Derrick meets his eyes at that moment.

“Harry,” he exclaims, pulling away from Louis. “Congrats on the contract.”

“Thank you,” Harry stutters, eyes flicking back and forth between Louis and Derrick. He still can’t manage to wrap his head around Louis leaning into the hug.

“No problem,” Derrick beams, unaware of Harry’s spluttering brain. “Could I speak to you for a couple of minutes?”

“I – yeah. Sure.”

Derrick leads him out of the room with a polite nod to Valarie. Once they’re out of the conference room and into the hall, Derrick’s smile drops. He tucks his hands into his suit pockets and fixes Harry with a stern look.

“So. Tell me, how do you actually feel about this contract?”

“I’m feeling pretty good. Bit euphoric – except it hasn’t hit me yet,” Harry jokes.

Derrick gives him a small smile in return. “I’m glad. I don’t want to rain on your parade, but I just wanted to let you to know a couple of caveats.”

“Sure,” Harry acquiesces. But doesn’t this guy work with Stephanie?

“You’re going to be thrust into the spotlight from the get go. I don’t think it’s fair to you that you’re so out of the loop. It’s tough being a new musician and suddenly thrown into something you’re completely unprepared to take on. Louis seems like an asshole.”

“He’s not--”

Derrick laughs outright. “You don’t have to lie to me, Harry. I’ve worked with Louis for a while now. And he’s possibly the moodiest he has ever been. Trust me, today hasn’t don’t any wonders for his mood.”

It doesn’t take someone who has worked with Louis to see that. So much for aiming for tact.

“Don’t let Louis steam roll you over, alright? He can be a huge pain in the neck, but if you give him a reason to trust you, he’s – he’s incredible. And you can believe he’ll return the favor.” Derrick pauses and scratches the back of his neck. “And I think that’s what he needs right now.”

Harry gives him a skeptical look. Of all people, he’s probably the worst choice to ask. For one, he doesn’t even know who Louis is and the guy likely blames him for being in the predicament in the first place.

Sighing, Derrick gives him a small smile. “You know, Louis has been through a lot of stuff. Management pushing him to finish out the last year of his contract is going to be like pulling teeth. He’s probably – no. He’s definitely going to give you a hard time for it. But you have more to lose.”

“What are you trying to tell me?” Harry grunts. They aren’t even a day into his contract and it’s already exhausting.

“I’m trying to help you,” Derrick parrots and winces. “I know that does nothing to convince you. But I don’t think I need to spell it out for you for you to understand that you’re the best option he’s got. Whether or not he actually puts out a song isn’t what his friends want. Speaking as a friend, I want him to be happy.”

“But you’re part of the management.”

Derrick smiles wistfully. “And sometimes, I really hate my job.”

The whitewashed doors swing open before Harry can ask him what he means. Louis has his equally stark white cane ahead of him and it taps to a stop before Derrick.

“Louis,” Derrick beams. A smile graces his chiseled face, dark eyes brightening. “You heading out?”

“I guess so. Thanks for coming with them.” A smile twists on Louis’s mouth but doesn’t reach his defeated eyes. “I know you.”

“Got lucky that they even let me come,” Derrick chuckles, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Take care, alright? Ray and Jason told me to let you know that you should come down to Raleigh for a visit soon.”

“No promises.”

“I figured,” Derrick smirks. “And, Harry?”

Harry starts, blinking when he realizes both men are looking in his direction. “Yeah?”

“Keep this one in line, yeah? I meant it when I said you can’t let him steam roll you.”

Harry forces himself to laugh. As he watches Derrick walk through the golden rotating doors, dread sours his stomach. He tries to ignore the resigned slump of Louis’s shoulders beside him and his own sinking ship.

It’s looking like a good start.

 

_***  
_

Derrick wasn’t wrong when he said working with Louis would be like pulling teeth.

Harry sighs into his hand as he stares down at his notes, filled with useless phrases that even he knows won’t work. Louis was supposed to meet him here an hour ago to hash a couple ideas out for the EP.

It’s kind of sketchy to just sit on the stairs of Louis’s apartment with his guitar, but it’s not like he has much of a choice. Thankfully the apartment is a ways off the road, so passing cars won’t think he’s up to no good. Shaking his head, Harry signs again and resigns himself to stare at the pigeon pecking on the grass.

At least it’s a good day to sit outside, he thinks. A breeze ruffles its breath through his hair, a respite from the sun shining down. It cools the sweat gathering on his brow and the droplets clinging to the back of his neck. This is miles better than the day he waited for thirty minutes in a thunderstorm.

The sound of an unlocking door behind him makes him scramble to his feet. When he looks up, he comes face to face with a disgruntled Louis with his eyebrows raised.

“I thought you left.”

“You didn’t exactly look did you?” Harry mutters.

“I can’t exactly see, remember?” Louis answers flatly. “Go home, Harry. I’m not writing any songs, contract or no contract.”

He moves to close the door and Harry does the only thing he can think of. He shoves his foot between the door and the doorframe, grabbing the faux wood for good measure.

“Wait,” he protests, desperate. “I’m not here – I mean, we don’t have to write music.”

Louis pulls his lip back and sneers. “Like I’ll buy that. Tell me you don’t have your guitar on you.”

“I do,” Harry admits then repeats, “We don’t have to write music.”

“That defeats the whole purpose of coming here. Go home, Harry.” Louis sags, shoulders falling in defeat. “I’ve got nothing for you.”

“Let’s just go outside. No writing, promise.”

This makes Louis look back up in his direction, brows narrowed quizzically. “Outside? Why would we go outside?”

Harry hesitates for a moment, searching for a way to reply without coming across as offensive. He shoves that thought aside; he has Louis’s attention now, and it probably won’t last too long.

“I’ve been here almost every day after work,” Harry explains. “And I don’t think I’ve seen you leave your place once.”

Valarie may have told him how Louis hasn’t spoken to her since the meeting two weeks ago before she and Owen returned to New York. From what he has gathered himself, Valarie happens to be the only one Louis lets drag him out of the apartment complex. But that’s probably not something he should mention.

“That’s not my problem,” Louis huffs.

“No it’s not. But fresh air,” Harry cajoles. “Good weather. It’s not pouring rain, no rough gales. Oregon Ridge Park is pretty close if you want to take the bus there.”

“Why would I go anywhere with you?”

That’s a question that stops Harry. “I don’t know,” he concedes. “But I’m on the same page as you, I guess. I can’t force you to write a song for me, but we’re required to at least attempt it.”

It’s the wrong thing to say as Louis stiffens up again. “Didn’t you hear--”

“I did, I did! I’m saying we can get around it. I promised you no writing. I mean, we can get around that. What we’re doing right now, they can probably say that neither of us are abiding by our contracts.”

“What would going to the park do?”

“We’re ‘brainstorming’. I don’t know about you, but I’ve heard that some people aren’t comfortable about writing songs with others unless they know them. If anything this can buy us time and get them off your back,” Harry tries.

Louis snorts. “I’m not getting into any chick-flick moments with you.”

“Not asking you to,” Harry shoots back. “But if you want to get slammed with the penalty, don’t blame me.”

“So you’re going to tell them I’m not working with you?” Louis dares.

Easing his foot out and removing his hand, Harry takes a step back. “Nope. I may know next to nothing about contracts, but I think it’s safe to say that I have a lot less riding on this than you do.”

Well, he doesn’t know that but now at least he can say he tried to work with Louis. Harry steps away from the door with his head held high, the back of his neck prickling even though he knows Louis can’t see him leave.

“Wait.”

He halts, but doesn’t turn around.

“I’ll come with you. Just let me grab my keys.”

 

Gravel crunches softly underneath their feet as they slowly enter Oregon Ridge Park. Woods frame the park on each side, the fence of trees still beside the hilly green planes. Above them, the sun casts a blinding glow through the viridian foliage, speckling the road with splatters of light.

The park has always been one of Harry’s favorite places. Just beyond the park is the murky green lake, where he has spent countless hours after sneaking in after dark. Taking a breath, he scents the fresh floral aroma permeating the air. There’s just something about the park that makes him relax. He isn’t about to say it’s his Garden of Eden, not by far. More like his garden of epiphany – yeah no. That doesn’t sound right either.

“What are we doing here again?” Louis grumbles beside him.

It’s not worth getting riled up, Harry reminds himself. “Breathing. Relaxing. Whatever you want, I guess.”

“I was perfectly relaxed at home.”

“Fresh air then. Sunshine, rainbows, unicorns, happiness,” Harry deadpans.

“God, you’re not one of those are you?”

Rolling his eyes, Harry taps Louis lightly on the wrist. “Oh my god, I’m going to infect you with my love of nature – no. Get a grip. If you really need an explanation or excuse, I’m here to clear my head.”

The songwriter falls silent, but continues to tap his walking stick alongside him. His eyebrows knit together, as if he has something to say.

Whatever. Harry looks away from him to trace the trail they’re following. If he’s lucky he might be able to catch a glimpse of the fox that’s been terrorizing the geese since last summer.

“I’m sorry for being an ass,” the songwriter murmurs after a few minutes of silence.

After a beat, Harry shrugs his shoulders. He gets it. Well, at least he thinks he does, even if it doesn’t excuse Louis of his reactions. “Can I ask you a couple of questions though?”

Louis shrugs a shoulder, but his mouth is set in a line. “I guess I owe you that much.”

“If you’re not comfortable with them, you don’t have to answer them.” That’s the last thing Harry wants to do – to make Louis more uncomfortable. God knows he’s already forced him to do something he doesn’t want to.

“Yeah, okay.”

“What was it like, you know? Winning American Idol?” It’s the first question that comes to mind, the only one that feels general enough without prying too much.

Louis turns to look in his general direction with one eyebrow arched. “Of all questions you could ask, you choose that one? You can easily find that one on the Internet. Valarie and Owen have been asked that question at least twice a year when they go perform for the show.”

“That’s what Valarie and Owen say,” Harry points out patiently. “And they always say the same thing. I’m curious as to what your interpretation is.”

There’s a pause before Louis picks up his walking stick and retracts it into a baton. He toys with it for a moment, feet dragging in the gravel. His steps are unsure without the walking stick to help him, but they never falter beside Harry’s.

“It was a lot of noise,” Louis admits. “Like the crackling static from the radio. It feels like a dream, but at the same time, so incredibly real with all the rush you’re getting. I don’t actually remember it though – best way to describe it is like getting so high you’re oblivious. Untouchable for that moment.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard you speak so many words in one go,” Harry teases, amazed despite himself. “What they’ve always said in interviews is like it’s a dream.”

“Because that’s the easiest way to describe it. Generic, but it’s true. It’s like you’ve got the doors open for you – anything is open. An album, magazine covers, sold out concerts – you just got the key to ecstasy.”

“That’s what it felt like, the whole keys and doors thing, when Valarie offered to give me an audition after Open Mic Night,” Harry muses. “Kate said I was stupid to say no to her after you left the room.”

“Yeah, that was stupid,” Louis coughs as if he’s trying to hide a laugh. Peering at his companion, Harry spies a quirk on the side of his mouth.

“I was trying to respect you,” Harry tries to explain. “Excuse me for attempting to be a respectful human being. For all I knew, that was the end of it.”

“Most people would have jumped on it right away, regardless of whether or not I knew you were stopping by,” Louis snorts. He passes a hand through his hair, fluffing up his caramel tresses inadvertently. “Kate’s smart – she a girlfriend?”

Harry chokes on his own spit and nearly trips. He must have made enough of a ruckus for Louis’s arm to snake out and grab his elbow tightly.

“Steady there. And I thought I was the one with problems.”

“Thanks,” Harry gasps sarcastically, trying to breathe. “God, Kate. No, she’s not. Best friend, yes. I met her in college and we kind of just stuck around each other, you know? We don’t exactly see eye to eye on the same things.”

Louis hums and taps the white baton against his palm. “That’s going to happen a lot with Stephanie and Joan. Just a warning.”

“I didn’t sign my soul away did I?” Harry jokes, stopping in his tracks. He toes the blue-grey gravel under his shoes, relishing in the ragged ripple of the uneven stones. It’s always been one of his favorite sounds; the unpolished sound of music.

Louis cants his head and frowns, directing his attention to the ground. “I wouldn’t say you entered a Faust legend. But Stephanie and Joan are part of the big pool. If you’re not careful, you find yourself slipping away.”

Harry looks up at the wistfulness in Louis’s tone. “What do you mean?”

“They say fame changes you. I hate that, ‘fame’? But it begins to characterize you and it’s like you become more and more numb, until it feels like you’re drained.”

The songwriter keeps his head ducked, shoulders dipped in resignation. Unsure of what to do, Harry stands there, mouth opening and closing as he tries to think of what to say.

A flash of mottled grey alights in his peripheral. Several honks and a smattering of feathered flutters follow.

As soon as the idea lands, Harry grabs Louis’s hand without thinking. It’s a miracle that Louis doesn’t pull away, though his wrist tenses.

“What--”

“Do you trust me?” Harry whispers, tugging them closer to the crest of the hill.

“No. Why the hell are you whispering?”

“Run!”

Harry bolts up the rest of the hill, hand wrapped tight around Louis’s, gently tugging him along.

The explosion of geese feathers catches him off guard. Honks erupt around them, caught up in frantically flapping wings. The world is a blur of mottled grey and brown and Harry doesn’t know what’s up and down anymore. He tilts his head back and laughs, letting go of Louis’s hand in favor of trying to grasp his bearings.

When the world finally settles, he finds himself looking up at the beginning of orange and pink hues. Beside him, he can hear soft pants, as if Louis is trying to get his breath back.

Sense slams back into Harry like a train. “Oh fuck. You’re not allergic to birds are you?”

He doesn’t know what startles him more. Louis genuinely laughing, the way his face lights up, or the way his eyes crescent and crinkle at the edges. Either way, he can’t decide whether or not to be worried or endeared.

“Allergic to birds?” Louis gasps out, doubled over. “God, no. That was,” he breaks. “I don’t know what that was – that was great.”

Relief washing over him, Harry coughs out a laugh. “Yeah?”

“Wouldn’t have thought you were the one to terrorize geese.”

“I’m not terrorizing them,” Harry argues. “Just encouraging them to move to another spot.”

Kneeling down, he slips off his guitar case and runs a hand over the soft tufts of grass around him. “Jokes aside, it’s probably one of my favorite things to do here. The whole peace and quiet is nice, but when they fly, it’s like you’re in a feathery tornado or something.”

“Feathery tornado,” Louis repeats with a snort. “Reminds me a bit about skating.”

“You skate?”

“Why so incredulous?” Louis drops down onto the ground beside Harry and lies down. “But it’s kind of the same feeling. Except instead of being at the mercy of birds, you’ve got no way of stopping on frictionless ice.”

“Some people know how to stop on ice,” Harry points out lightly. He follows Louis’s lead after he strips off his shoes and socks. The grass is soft and rough beneath his feet, tickling the edges of his toes.

“Yeah, Derrick and Ray can. Miss it a bit if I think about it,” Louis replies. His face is tilted towards the waning sun. When Harry looks over in askance, he can see the etched frown Louis almost always wears is gone, the barest hint of a smile still there.

It’s nice, Harry can’t help but think. Without the prospect of music in the picture, everything with Louis is a little easier to bear. It’s like a switch has gone off – if only working with him regularly is that easy. He lets his eyes slip close as he tucks his hands behind his head.

“Who’s Ray?” Harry asks for the sake of the conversation.

“Derrick’s b-” Louis coughs and clears his throat, “best friend from college. Plays hockey in the NHL or something.”

“So you’re saying you’ve skated with professional hockey stars.”

Louis snickers, “I’ve gone skating with Derrick. That’s the difference. Derrick is better than the average human being on ice, but nowhere near Ray’s caliber.”

“You meet them in college too?”

Louis sighs wistfully and there’s a soft rustle of grass before he responds. “No. Wish I did though. Met him when a year after I signed with XEPA.”

“Derrick’s an interesting guy,” Harry offers after a beat.

“Derrick is more than interesting,” he says it with more force than Harry expects.

Sitting up, Harry casts a curious glance at Louis, only to find the songwriter’s eyes open and blindly staring in his direction. Something fierce flashes in the speckled grey, too fast for him to catch.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not deaf, you know? I know Derrick said a few things to you when you signed with XEPA and Magna.”

“He didn’t say anything bad,” Harry hurries to assure Louis. The last thing he needs is Louis to recede back into his angry shell.

Eyes still alight, Louis shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean. I don’t care what he says – it’s probably true. Derrick’s a good one. You won’t find many of good people managing the industry, especially at the top, but he’s a good one. The only reason they haven’t fired him is probably because he keeps a lot of the moneymakers around. Derrick’s someone you can trust.”

He doesn’t offer anymore, just closes his eyes and lets out a breath. Harry waits a moment before following suit. At least that’s one good thing today: he knows one is person on his side.

 

_***_

The beat of the dance song thrums through his veins as he swings his hips. Harry can’t hear the lyrics over the _boom boom boom_ of the bass. Blue lights dance from their orbs, their translucent fingers weaving through dancers.

This is what he loves. Harry grins and closes his eyes even as he bumps into another person. Hands land on his hips, long fingers digging into the belt of his jeans for a brief moment. The person taps their fingers twice against his hip before they’re gone again.

Spinning around, Harry shimmies as badly as he can at Pete. His friend’s resulting grimace is more than enough compensation for embarrassing him.

“Wanna get a drink?” Pete shouts over the song.

Harry has to bite his tongue around the innuendo that immediately surges to his head. “Only if you buy me a drink!”

Pete rolls his eyes once more before weaving his way off of the dance floor. It’s no easy task, with the number of dancers jumping to the beat around them. When they do step off the dance floor, Harry’s ears ring, but he pays it no mind.

“We might have to wait a bit,” he says, pointing at the cloud of people surrounding the bar.

Pete shrugs. “Might as well get in line.”

Fair enough. Rubbing off sweat gathering at his upper lip, Harry glances around them again. Mikey’s is considerably less crowded than the last time he came. Though, he wouldn’t be surprised if that had to do with Valarie’s presence.

“Oh, hey,” Pete throws him out of his thoughts. “I’m heading back to Cali for my step-sister’s wedding in August.”

“She’s getting married?” Harry asks incredulously. The last time Pete said anything about his sister, it was that they weren’t close. Funny how fast the night changes.

Pete snorts. “My mother’s making me. She say’s it’s the polite thing to do.”

It is the polite thing to do, but whether or not Pete complains to him over text the entire time is another story. Harry bites his cheek to prevent himself from grinning. The way Pete’s eyes narrow suggests he isn’t too successful.

“So how’s the song writing going?” Pete asks as they wait for the bartender to fix their drinks.

It’s rather difficult to make out what he’s saying with the roll of conversation around them. When he can make out what Pete says, Harry shakes his head. He definitely asked that in retribution.

“Haven’t gotten anything down yet. Everything that I’ve written sounds and looks like trash.”

“Then what have you been doing all this time?” Pete looks incredulous, even as he leans against the bar.

This stops Harry short for a moment. What has he been doing? Since the day at the park, he still stops by Louis’s apartment complex every day after work. Except, they still haven’t made any headway with writing. They’ve been stopping at other parks, playgrounds even.

“Getting to know him, I guess.”

Around them, people jostle back and forth. The muffled beats of Larry Lawrence’s “Next To You” reverberate through the air from the dance floor. Even in the lackluster light, Harry can see Pete’s questioning glance.

“Getting to know him, you guess,” Pete repeats. “What’s he like though? After he won a couple years ago, he kind of just disappeared. I’ve always kind of wondered what happened to him. Why would you give something up when you’ve got it so good?”

“Didn’t Kate tell you?”

Pete scoffs and turns his face away from Harry. “She never tells me anything. All she tells me to do is go check the internet.”

“Somehow I doubt that’s all she tells you to do.” If he says it just to watch Pete’s ears flame red, Pete doesn’t have to know.

“Shut up. I bet he gave it up because he couldn’t deal with it or something.”

“He’s got his reasons,” Harry finds himself saying immediately. “We don’t get to see a lot of things – and Louis is a good guy.” He bites his tongue when he realizes he is about to say how Louis hates his management. It’s all speculation; he might be jumping to the wrong conclusions.

Pete looks at him with raised eyebrows, but thankfully the bartender slides their beers to them.

“Cheers.” Harry moves to grab his. Someone bumps into him then, making him stumble back into Pete.

“Sorry!” The girl exclaims, brushing back her curled hair.

“It’s all good.” Harry waves her off.

She stares at him for a moment, then steps closer, her brows knitted together. It makes him vaguely uncomfortable. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

He exchanges a look with Pete. Working at the café means meets a lot of people, remembers a lot of faces. That said, Baltimore is a huge city and for all he knows, this girl could be from out of state. “No, sorry.”

She frowns for a moment, before something visibly clicks. Her mouth drops open and she motions frantically at him with her hand. “No, no. I remember why you look so familiar. You’re the guy that Valarie Kohfman tweeted about!”

“I-”

“You have an amazing voice,” she gushes, pulling out her phone. “Are you going to be releasing an album soon?”

“It’s in the works,” Harry answers somewhat truthfully. “And thanks.”

“What’s the name of the song you were singing?” Her eyes are wide in the darkness with curiosity. “My friends and I have been looking for it, but we haven’t found it. Was that your demo?”

He flounders a bit, unsure of how to answer. Technically he isn’t supposed to release any information about the EP – and he also doesn’t have much to say about something he hasn’t even begun writing.

“We’re working on a title?” Harry offers.

“Oh.” The girl deflates a bit, but perks back up, blonde hair bouncing. “Could I have a photo with you?”

“Sure.”

She presses in close, a bit too close for Harry’s liking. Thankfully, Pete tucks himself on Harry’s left side, a familiar presence. The front flash goes off, too bright and the girl floats away with a bright smile.

“What was that?” Pete detaches himself from Harry’s side and scoops his beer up from the bar.

Harry shakes his head, hell if he knows. “Just a couple of repercussions from knowing Valarie, I guess.”

“Well, you made it, man,” Pete laughs, lifting the neck of his bottle for Harry to tap. “You’re on your way to making it. Cheers.”

“Cheers.” The word sticks in his throat, like over sweetened tea. He isn’t moving on his way to “making it” – not without an EP, much less a song.

 

When he slips into Louis’s apartment the next afternoon, he finds Louis sitting in front of the piano. A red velvet cloth covers the keys as the songwriter strokes his lithe fingers across the crimson felt.

At Harry’s entrance he jolts away as if he’s been caught red handed.

“Started writing again?” Harry asks as blithely as he can. Hope bubbles up in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, Louis has rediscovered his muse?

Except Louis crushes it with a simple shake of his head. “Where we headed off today?”

Swallowing his disappointment, Harry forces himself to insert cheerfulness into his tone. “I’m always deciding where we’re heading. You got any places you want to go?”

He must not have been able to hide the petulance or annoyance in his tone. Louis furrows his brows quizzically in his direction and ambles towards his direction.

“You’re pissed.”

Harry rolls his eyes since he knows Louis can’t see him do it. “I’m not.”

“You are. Why?”

“Look, I don’t want to make a big deal out of it,” Harry sighs.

Louis huffs out a snort. “Bullshit.”

“Bullshit?” Harry repeats, annoyance surging through his frame. They’re in the same boat, whether or not Louis likes it. And they need to get this done if they want to come out of this mess in one piece. “I haven’t asked you to write music for me--”

“So this is what this is about,” Louis leans his head back and lets out a hollow laugh.

“You’re in a contract, Louis. I’m in a contract. You can probably pay the price of it, I can’t.”

Louis reaches up to tug at his caramel locks with both hands. When he stops, there are tufts of hair sticking out in every direction. Coupled with tired eyes and slumped shoulders, he is an epitome of a distressed squirrel. Harry would have laughed if he wasn’t so infuriated.

“I thought you said we could get around it.”

Sighing, Harry takes a step closer to the piano. “Louis, you’re the one who’s been in the industry longer than I have. I’m the one who should be looking up to you.”

That earns him a wry smile. “I’m not the person to look up to. I’m ‘fucking blind’ as you so eloquently put it. A washed up, muse-less, writer can’t do shit for you. And you’re right, Valarie and Owen don’t deserve someone who can’t give them anything back.”

“Why are you like this?” Harry crosses his arms. “First we take ten steps forwards, and now we’re back to step one. I didn’t mean it--”

“You did,” Louis retaliates and jabs at the air in front of him angrily. “Don’t lie to me. I’m blind, I’m stupid – I get it. I could be up on stage, I can still sing, I can still write – Valarie, Stephanie, and Joan tell me all the time. I’m fortunate I didn’t die three years ago – but has it ever occurred to you that they don’t need me? That I don’t want to write?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Valarie and Owen are fine on their own,” Louis yells. “They don’t need me to write for them. They can get someone else – for fucks sake, they can collaborate with anyone they want. I don’t need the spotlight, I don’t want it! I don’t want to be paraded around like a project!”

Reeling back, Harry gapes at Louis. What brought this on? The last time they went through with this, the writer essentially asserted that he believed he was one of the best.

“But your contract,” he splutters.

“Fuck XEPA. Fuck Magna,” Louis spits. He pulls away from Harry and paces the length of the room.

Stunned, Harry sinks into Louis’s deserted piano chair and just watches Louis stomp back and forth. Louis has his hands bunched against his black t-shirt angrily, tearing at the already frayed edges.

“I want to write what I want to write. I don’t want a deadline. I don’t want someone looking over my shoulder, I don’t want,” he drifts off.

Louis resumes pacing, the heels of his shoes squeaking against the polished oak. It doesn’t seem like he’s about to stop as he continues to worry his hem. Harry wants to say something, but nothing feels right against his tongue. The last thing he needs to do is frustrate him even more.

“Do you know what you want to write?” He hedges.

The question halts Louis in his tracks, enough so that it makes him stumble slightly into the couch. Immediately, Harry shoots up from his seat, alarmed. Seeing Louis in the comforts of his own home makes him forget about the songwriter’s disability, but that’s enough to jar Harry back into reality.

“I – I.” Louis quavers on his feet. As soon as he hears Harry’s footsteps, he waves him away. “I don’t know.”

Even though Louis doesn’t seem like he needs help, Harry takes a couple steps closer. Perhaps Louis was referring to himself when he mentioned the caricatures that day on the hill.

“Do they know?”

Shoving himself upright, Louis glares at the table instead of making eye contact with Harry. “XEPA and Magna? They don’t care. They’re there to make money – profit.”

“And what about Derrick?”

This makes Louis pause again. Something washes over Louis’s face, too quickly for Harry to decipher. It’s something akin to regret or wistfulness – forced blankness overtakes it before Harry can point it out.

“What about him?” Louis’s grey eyes flicker over towards the piano and back at Harry.

“What’s his part to play in all of this? Does he know what you want?” Harry advances and eases himself down onto the couch beside Louis, careful not to touch him.

At last, the songwriter slumps and relinquishes his clenched fists from his wrinkled hem. “He’d tell me to be sensible. And finish it out.”

“He told me to trust you,” Harry adds after a beat. “And that working with you would be like pulling teeth. And I’m not going to lie, it’s honestly like that.”

He clenches his jaw shut, appalled at himself. There’s something about Louis that makes him loose-jawed, he hates it.

Surprisingly, Louis lets out a wet laugh, burying his face in his hands. “Yeah, Derrick would say that.”

“So should I trust you?” Harry jokes.

“Probably not,” Louis admits. “I’m just as lost as you are.”

Biting his lip, Harry looks back up at the songwriter. “So what do I do?”

Louis doesn’t answer for a beat. But when he removes his hands from his face, there’s a terrible resigned shadow over his eyes. “I don’t know. Come up with something that blows both XEPA and Magna over or something. Call Derrick, Valarie, Owen – somebody. Just someone that’s going to be more help than I am.”

“So you’re going to roll over – just let them steam roll you?” Harry asks incredulously.

There’s no hesitation from Louis this time. A trembling hand darts out and points towards the door. “Get out.”

“I don’t want to be—”

“Get. Out.”

“Listen to me,” Harry demands. Louis pointedly turns his head away, hands fiddling with his shirt again. “We’re in the same boat, whether you like it or not. When Joan calls to check up on progress, both of us are screwed.”

It garners no reaction from the songwriter, so Harry lets himself out without another word.

Just as he steps outside of Louis’s apartment, his phone vibrates against his thigh.

Without bothering to check the caller ID, Harry barks into the phone, “Hello?”

“Is this a bad time?” Joan’s smooth alto filters through.

Ripping his Samsung Galaxy away from his ear, Harry gawps down at it. “I – no. What can I do for you?”

“Brilliant,” Joan purrs. “I need you to come down to the hotel again. You, Valarie, Stephanie, and I have a couple things to discuss. Can you make it within the next thirty minutes?”

Harry looks back up at Louis’s apartment before answering. “Yes ma’am.”

 

_Ktchktchktchktchktch!_

“Harry! Look over here!”

“Over here! Valarie!”

“Valarie! Can we get a word!”

White spots erupt before his eyes when he steps out in front of the hotel. The loud rattle of two cameras is his only indication as to just what has blinded him. Unable to see, he tries to block out the flashes detonating beneath his eyelids.

“No, don’t,” Valarie’s silk voice appears by his ear. “Look down and walk. But never cover your eyes – not unless you want them to think you’ve got something to hide.”

Numbly, Harry nods. Not that Valarie waits for his answer. She grasps his wrist and tugs him forward, seemingly uncaring if he was tripping over his feet.

The whoosh of air-conditioning blasting his face shocks him and he stumbles forwards slightly.

“Sorry about that.” Valarie lets go of his hand quickly. “Welcome to the world of getting papped.”

“How did they know we were arriving?” Harry rubs the spots out from underneath his eyelids.

Valarie’s ruby lips turn up in a knowing smile as she lifts her sunglasses. “Lesson number one, a solid percentage of the time, management calls the paparazzi. Now come on, Steph and Joan hate waiting.”

She leads him through the ivory doors of the meeting room once more. Harry stops in his tracks, trying to resist the urge to gape. Nearly everything looks the same – and he’s not talking about the furniture. Stephanie and Joan stand in the same positions as they were last week, with their hands tucked behind their backs.

“Harry, Valarie,” Stephanie addresses and waves a hand at the two of them. “Please, take a seat.”

“No need to look so stupefied,” Valarie whispers.

When Harry glances at her, her shoulders are rigid, lips devoid of the smirk she had given him earlier. For someone who just told him to relax, she isn’t much better off.

As soon as they all take their seats, Joan leans forward, hands folded against the polished mahogany. “I trust that you’ve been doing well?”

“Yes, ma’am.” If there’s anything he learned at the Border’s café, it’s play safe and polite.

“Good, good. Have you started working with Louis on your EP?”

Now Harry hesitates, chewing on his tongue. This is his producer and he’s legally signed a contract with them. It probably won’t do him any good to lie. At the same time, would it be a good idea to throw Louis under the bus?

Why is he even thinking about the songwriter? The man has done nothing for him, Harry reminds himself. He isn’t Valarie or Owen – Harry owes nothing to the songwriter. He has wasted enough time “getting to know” Louis.

“No.”

Joan’s eyebrows shoot up. “You haven’t?”

Underneath the table, Valarie knocks her leather-clad thigh against his. Harry chances a glance at her, but she stares resolutely ahead.

“Not for lack of trying,” Harry hesitates. Tell her the truth. Tell her the truth. “Neither of us have come up with the right sound yet.”

“So you’re still making progress,” Joan checks. She leans back against her chair, seemingly satisfied. “Have you thought about recording a cover?”

“No, ma’am. I thought the EP was supposed to be all original.”

“Yes,” Stephanie chimes in. “But while we’re waiting for you to find your sound, we need to raise your profile. Right now, all you have are obscure YouTube videos.”

“So you want me to cover a song – any song in particular?” Song covers are easy.

“Not exactly. What we need to do is tie your name to an artist that’s already well known. And that’s where Valarie comes in.”

Valarie smiles at him then, but even Harry can see it’s strained at the edges. Her feline eyes don’t have the same glint as before. Instead, they look like they’re gaging his reaction, daring him to say anything.

Swallowing, Harry looks back at the two executives. “I’m going to be covering one of their songs then?”

“Sure.” Stephanie shrugs her tiny shoulders. “But it’s going to be more of that. You saw the paparazzi outside, did you not?”

To the point he was blinded, yes.

“My job is to get you out to the rest of the world. Pap walks, news articles, connections. And right now, Harry all you have is Valarie.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees, eyes shifting back and forth from Stephanie to Valarie. “What are you trying to say?”

Stephanie sighs and tugs at her pin straight hair, as if Harry is too stupid to figure it out himself. “We’re constructing a narrative for you. The media’s run that you’re Valarie’s ‘Mystery Boy’. If you want to be a name that they recognize, we need to ramp that up.”

 

***

Media training. Social media presence. Paparazzi assignments. Narrative.

Harry steps outside of the hotel meeting room in a daze. Okay, he isn’t that naïve to believe that stars had it easy – but it’s complicated. On top of constructing the “image” for the media, they want him to record the cover and demos for the EP.

God. He swallows thickly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wishes he paid a little more attention to Kate when she rambled about her Tumblr or twitter accounts. Who knows? Maybe she can help him run his.

A hand digs into his arm and snatches him out of his thoughts with a jerk. He comes face to face with Valarie’s flaming dark eyes.

“You were about to sell Louis out,” she accuses, black lacquered nails squeezing his arm.

Wincing, Harry eases his forearm out of her grip. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”

“Bullshit.” Valarie pins him with a glare. “I didn’t work this hard for the two of you idiots to screw it up for each other.”

“Neither of us asked you to do it,” Harry says, stomach churning. This isn’t his fight – no. This is his fight. He straightens his shoulders and fixes her with a glare of his own. “Have you bothered to ask Louis what he wants?”

“I-”

“We don’t work well together. Hell – sometimes it feels like he can’t bear to be in the same room with someone who mentions the word ‘songwriting.’ How do you expect me to work with him?”

Valarie’s lips twist angrily at his words, but her silence weighs heavily in the charged air. She folds her arms and cocks her hip, eyes stubbornly meeting his. Louis _has_ told her then.

Well, two can play at this game. Harry mirrors her pose and lifts his chin in challenge. “Face it. It’s not going to work. I don’t know how you got the execs on board, but it’s not going to work out.”

“Harry, you’re literally his last hurrah,” Valarie says softly. “I’m looking out for both of you. You’re an artist who can make it. He’s a songwriter who needs a bird or whatever poetic stuff you want to use to make that analogy work.”

The last things Louis probably wants to be treated as are one, a charity case. Two, a cliché. Harry bites his cheek so he doesn’t spew out those exact words, even though his skin simmers with annoyance.

“Louis’s life isn’t some novel you can write, Valarie,” he settles for instead.

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do.” Harry turns to face the door. “He’s made it pretty clear that he doesn’t like the constraints. And I’m not going to be some ‘songbird’ that rescues him from that.”

“You never know,” Valarie stubbornly protests.

“No, I’m pretty sure I know,” Harry quips. “That’s the stuff that happens in stories and dreams, it rarely happens, if even.”

He tries not to roll his eyes when he hears Valarie murmur that sometimes dreams do happen. Pausing at the entrance of the hotel, he looks back at her. Plus, she is the songbird, not him. With how hard she’s trying to put Louis back onto his feet, she takes the title. As much as he doesn’t want to work with Louis that doesn’t mean he is unwilling to work with the rest of the team.

“Are we heading out or what?” Harry shrugs a shoulder at the door.

Valarie stays rooted in her spot. “So you’re willing to do this?”

Sighing, Harry looks up at the ceiling. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut about this whole thing and went along with it instead. He’s not trying to pick a fight with Valarie, he isn’t. It’s just – unfair. Unfair to Louis, unfair to him that they have to work together.

When he says as much, Valarie uncrosses her arms and makes her way over to his side.

“I’m sorry.” She places a hand on her shoulder. “I really am. I’m trying to look out for him, you know? No guarantees that I won’t pull you into another mess, but I won’t push with Louis anymore.”

Harry watches her impassively. Valarie’s stance is open, her arms by her sides as if she has nothing to hide. It puts him more on edge than when she had been pushing him. Logically, he knows that’s the only reason that she feels off to him, yet he can’t completely convince himself. Maybe it’s the glint in her eye.

Shaking his head, he tries to put it out of his mind. “Okay.”

“That’s all?” Valarie claps her hands together. “Fantastic. You ready to go face the music?”

As ready as he’ll ever be. “I guess.”

“Remember, look down so you don’t get blinded. And that you’ve got a meeting with Derrick on Saturday for media training and make sure you record a cover for them to stick on YouTube.”

Without another beat, she slips her hand into his and forcibly tugs him out into the explosive world of paparazzi.

 

Exhausted, Harry presses his face against the cool glass table. He’ll take back any time he said celebrity lives were easy. Cause, hell, media training is awful, even though Derrick has tried to make it as painless as possible.

He has nothing against Derrick, heck, the guy knows more hockey jokes than he should for whatever reason. Louis might have said something about Derrick and one hockey thing or another, but Harry can’t remember what it is.

Then he knocks his head into the blue-green surface of the glass. Hard. Louis is the last person he wants to think of right now. The songwriter’s dejected last words to him seem to have been seared into his mind. “Get out” echoes in his head with finality like the strokes of midnight.

God, Harry hates his brain sometimes.

“You know, Louis was just as bad as you were,” Derrick muses from somewhere before him.

Lifting his head, Harry quirks an eyebrow in response. Derrick folds his hands behind his messy dark hair and leans back in his straight-backed cushioned chair.

“Actually, he might be worse. Poor guy couldn’t act to save his life – pretty sure he still can’t.”

“He couldn’t have been that bad.” Harry pushes himself onto his elbows.

Derrick chuckles and stands up from his seat. “Yeah, he could have. And he was. The guy has a voice, he can write. But when it came to remembering how to swerve, he wasn’t any good. Speaking of swerving, how’s your girl doing?”

It takes Harry a minute before he replies. “I don’t have a girl?”

Derrick waves a hand in the air. “Pretend I’m a reporter.”

Harry can feel his lips thin as he looks down at the table. A heavy weight settles in his stomach. Is he supposed to lie and hide himself? That isn’t who he is – not by a long shot.

A hand covers his gently. When he looks up, Derrick’s laughing eyes have softened into something he can’t place. Understanding perhaps?

“Remember, this is swerving and pivoting,” Derrick says quietly. “I hate this part of my job as much as you do. But this makes things easier. It protects you by letting the people assume what they want to see. With a bit less scrutiny, you let people see and hear what they want to without letting them pry into the more personal aspects of your life.”

“It’s still a lie isn’t it?”

Derrick takes his hand off his to stand up and pour himself a glass of water. “You want a glass of water, Harry?”

Wordlessly, Harry nods and takes the proffered glass. The dark haired man finishes his glass and places it gently onto the glass table with _clink_.

“Ask me a question, Harry, anything you’d like to know.” Derrick leans a slender hip against Harry’s side of the table.

Pursing his lips, Harry considers the man before him. Derrick has a young handsome face, olive skin, and a roguish smile. There’s no way he doesn’t have someone as his partner, not with that face. That question is obviously out of bounds though. This is a professional setting and the last thing Harry wants to do is irritate someone who has been touted as extremely valuable by others, even Louis.

Shoving Louis pointedly out of his mind again, Harry meets Derrick’s eyes. “Why do you hate your job?”

“Working in the music industry is tough,” Derrick says nonchalantly. “You’ve got a list of things to do, with lovely people that don’t necessarily want to comply.” He offers Harry a wink and a lopsided grin to say he is only joking. “But Crowned Kings are back promoting their new album, and that’s set to come out right before the holidays, so that’s really exciting.”

“You’re a fan?” Harry asks.

“Huge fan,” Derrick affirms. “Good alternative pop band. They’ve really come a long way since a couple years ago.”

Suddenly, he reaches over and snaps once in front of Harry’s eyes. Harry startles, reeling back as far as he can away from the dark haired main. The glass of water in his hand nearly drops, but he steadies it before he can.

Derrick leans forward into his space, eyes smiling. “That’s pivoting. Direct their attention away from what they asked. More than ninety percent of the time it’ll get you away from answering the question.”

When Derrick pulls away, Harry slumps in his seat, heart pounding. He probably should have seen that coming, honestly. What’s with the spontaneity in these people?

“So you want to try again?” Derrick slips off the table to pour himself another glass. “That’s a question people are bound to ask, especially since Stephanie wants to connect your name with Valarie’s. One more time and we’re done, promise.”

Gathering up his resolve, Harry nods. This shouldn’t be that bad.

“So how’d you meet So-and-So?”

“She’s a good friend of mine, uh,” Harry falters and racks his brains. “And a nice person?”

The sound of Derrick clapping makes him look up from his hands. Derrick beams at him from across the table, arms over his head. He looks ridiculous. The laughter that bubbles up from Harry’s chest surprises even himself as he dissolves into chuckles.

“See? How does that feel? The taste of accomplishment?” Derrick crows, dragging a hand through his messy fringe.

“Pretty good,” Harry admits, though he still isn’t too comfortable with the idea. “Pretty good.”

“Just make sure you say it with conviction. Then swerve happily away. Some people will notice, but usually that’s not a problem at all.” Derrick pulls out his phone from his pocket to check the time. “I think we’re pretty much done here. You feel good?”

Harry takes a catalogue of himself. Sure, he’s tired, but all in all, this last media training session didn’t feel too bad. So he nods.

“Great! That’s just about the last one. If you get a question you need to deflect, pause, make a joke, and try not to put in a long stretch of silence. These interviews are recorded and remembered, particularly nowadays with social media. And I think you’ve got them pretty much down. Someone will always be with you for the important interviews and run down the questions interviewers are allowed to ask. Sound good?”

Yeah, that sounds good. Harry musters a smile onto his face. It doesn’t seem to be too successful considering how Derrick gives him a reassuring slant of a smile in response.

“Don’t worry. All you got to do tonight is walk with Valarie and look pretty.”

Wait. “I have a pap walk tonight?” Harry says in confusion.

Derrick blinks at him, a mirror of bewilderment. “Didn’t… Stephanie or Valarie tell you?”

Harry shakes his head. If they did, he probably would have been a bigger mess during the media training session. So it’s probably a good idea he only just found out.

“Why do they always make me break it to them?” Derrick complains under his breath.

He walks around the glass table to throw open the shades shrouding the office window. The setting sun streams into the office, blinding Harry for a moment. When he can see again, Derrick is peering out the window onto the street.

“Is the pap walk that bad?” Harry manages, heart ready to jump into his throat. He’s claustrophobic and the thought of people pressing all around him doesn’t sound fun.

“Oh?” Derrick turns to look at him. “Oh, no it’s not that bad. I just think it would have been a nice heads up for you. If I were you, I’d be pretty alarmed. Just think if I hadn’t told you.” He chuckles. “Man, Stephanie would have both our heads.”

Harry runs his tongue over his teeth as he stands up. For all that Derrick jokes, it seems as if he isn’t a big fan of the executive. While it’s not as scornful as Louis, Harry can still hear the negative lilt to his voice. It niggles in the back of his mind, but he bites his tongue again. This isn’t the time to pry, especially into something he knows nothing of.

Again, Derrick must catch something in his expression. “Go on, ask away. No judging, promise.”

“You and Louis seem to share the same sentiments,” Harry states. Better to say it in a roundabout way than to crash head on into the wrong assumption, he guesses.

The other man scratches his nose and brushes his hair back before responding. “I wouldn’t say that. Louis doesn’t hate Stephanie; I don’t hate Stephanie. Everyone has their differences.”

The way he doesn’t exactly meet Harry’s eyes puts Harry on edge. There’s something Derrick isn’t saying and it certainly doesn’t help his faith in XEPA.

“They didn’t do anything bad to Louis?”

This gets him a lopsided grin and unwavering eye contact. “Nothing bad. Something that he may have disagreed with, sure. XEPA, Magna, lawyers – we can’t do anything outside of what we agreed to on the contract. No one wants to get hit with a lawsuit. Those can get ugly fast.” Derrick’s smile disappears as he focuses on Harry. “If anything we do bothers you, let me know, okay?”

He sighs again before leaning in close to Harry’s ear. “Keep those who your know private life close. Your private life is yours and once something about it gets out, it’s going be get _out_. Only tell the media things you’re okay with the world knowing.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees slowly. He can’t place it, but there’s something about Derrick. The media trainer is just more open than either executive; then again, Louis did say his job is to keep the clients happy.

“Could I ask you another question?”

“Go for it.”

Harry hesitates. This is probably something he shouldn’t mention; yet at the same time, he wants to know. “Louis mentioned something about – about the good and bad in the music industry. He’s ha- he doesn’t seem to trust a lot of people.”

Derrick hums softly. “Seems like he trusts you enough to tell you that. Like I said before, everyone has their differences, some more than others. You get stolen ideas all the time. The worst I’ve seen are music videos that have been plagiarized and go onto win awards with no credit given to their original makers.”

Silence falls on them heavily, the words sinking deep into Harry’s skin. What this means to Louis, he has no idea. It’s probably a good time to put the songwriter out of his head once and for all. There’s only a small chance Louis would work with him and that’s only if Magna forces him to. And that’s not what Harry wants.

“You know? I think that’s enough depressing talk today,” Derrick breaks the silence. “Do you know where the pap walk is going to be?”

“No.” Harry shakes his head.

“Good thing I asked.” Derrick hands him a small slip of paper with an address written on it. “Go, bring your friends, get a drink. Don’t worry about the pap walk too much. Val’s done it a ton of times, she’ll lead you through it.”

“So just stand there and look pretty?” Harry jokes half-heartedly.

“Just smile and look pretty.”

 

_***_

Heart thrumming in his chest, Harry steps out of the taxi gingerly. As much as he tries to take Derrick’s advice to just enjoy it, it’s hard. The idea of a pap walk makes the hairs on his arms stand even though the early June night is stupidly humid. He’s checking left and right before he can stop himself.

Thankfully there aren’t any paps around. If there are, it’s not like he can see them in the inky darkness only illuminated by murky lights through mottled windows.

“Relax,” Kate pats him on the back.

Harry swallows the “I can’t” in favor of offering her a shaky smile. If he could, he would. It’s just not that easy.

“Dude, guys,” Pete says lowly and points ahead. “We’re going in there?”

Harry looks up from the ground and blinks. Then blinks again.

For all that he expected this place to be some high-end place, it doesn’t look the part. Boxy and dark, the only thing that suggests that they’re at the right place is the lengthy line of people queuing. It looks a bit like a cinderblock. When Harry says as much, Kate rolls her eyes and tugs him forward.

“Don’t be a nob, Harry,” she berates. “We’re at one of the most popular bars in Baltimore. People like us don’t just walk in.”

People like us don’t just walk in is right, Harry thinks to himself. This is to boost his image – again he shakes his head. God, he has got to stop thinking like that. Taking a deep breath he lets it out of his nose. Music. This is for music and dreams and, and, and –

Stop over thinking things, Harry. Just –

“You okay?” Pete drops a hand on his shoulder. His eyes flit back and forth over Harry’s face before he squeezes Harry’s shoulder tightly.

Harry nods, but Pete must see something in his expression since he halts completely. Opening his mouth to tell Pete that everything’s fine, he is cut off when Pete pulls him into a loose hug.

“We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to,” Pete whispers into his ear. “Just because Kate and I want to do in, doesn’t mean we have to. This is you, not us.”

“I’m fine. I just,” Harry takes a shuddering breath. “Need to stop over-thinking things,” he coughs out a laugh. “Dunno why I’m so nervous. This isn’t like performing in front of people.”

Pete claps him hard on the back before pulling away. He doesn’t say anything, only takes a couple more steps back so Harry can have some breathing room. In an effort to express his thanks, Harry offers his friend a smile. Well. He tries to, but how successful it is… is a different matter.

Brushing his hair off his forehead, Harry takes another deep breath. “I’m good.”

Even though Pete doesn’t look convinced, he nods. “You sure?”

Before Harry can respond, Kate’s clicking heels interrupt his train of thoughts. “What are you guys waiting,” she halts and takes in Harry’s pale face. “Is there something wrong?”

Pete gives Harry one last pat on the shoulder before grinning at Kate. “Nothing that I didn’t take care of while you were skipping to the moon.”

“Oh shut up, Pete.”

Harry lets the two sweep his thoughts away with their nonsensical bickering. What he doesn’t miss is Pete’s continuous slanting glances back at him as if to make sure he is still beside him. In response, Harry offers him a tiny grin. It’s not as if he can run away now – the taxi is long gone and he isn’t about to shell out money for another one just yet.

“I’m saying, we can just go up front if they know Harry is coming,” Kate says, waving her hands around.

“And I’m saying, maybe we shouldn’t jump to conclusions. We could queue.”

“I’ll go ask,” Harry suggests.

“You sure?” Pete sweeps his gaze over him once more.

Harry shrugs. This is his job after all, right? From what he’s gathered from Derrick, they’re supposed to go in, have a couple of drinks, and then leave once the paparazzi is set up outside of the club. At the thought of the paps, he gives another cursory glance around the area.

God, what is he thinking? He laughs quietly to himself, ignoring Pete’s raised eyebrows. Now he’s just getting way too far ahead of himself. No one here knows who he is yet and might never know. Who is he kidding but himself?

“Yeah, it’s fine.” This time he doesn’t even have to fake the smile.

The bouncer at the door gives him a disinterested look when he approaches, giving him a cursory once over. “You gotta go to the back of the line unless you’re on this list, brother.” He waves a hand back at the lengthy line of waiting grumpy club-goers.”

Harry glances back at Pete and Kate who are slowly pushing their way up to meet him. Turning to face the bouncer again, he digs out his ID from his skinny jeans. “Harry Styles?”

The bouncer flicks through the list on his phone before he takes Harry’s ID. “You’re all good, man. Those two Pete and Kate?”

“Yes sir.”

“Go on ahead.”

“Thanks.”

When Pete and Kate manage to make it to the front, Harry ushers them through the door. Getting in was much easier than he expected, honestly.

All thoughts evaporate when he takes in the flashing blue-green-blue lights from the dance floor and stage. The floor pounds to the throbbing beat of a song he doesn’t recognize. And despite it’s boxy exterior, the club is surprisingly neat, orderly – and _packed_. There are far more occupants than he has ever seen at Mikey’s, from the dance floor to the bar.

“Holy shit!” Kate says. It’s not so loud that she has to yell for them to hear her. “We got in.”

“You did!” Valarie materializes from somewhere close to the dance floor.

Harry stops himself from looking between the stage and the turquoise-haired singer in astonishment. If he’s honest to himself, the only reason he doesn’t is because Valarie tugs him close for a brief hug.

“Am I forgiven?” She says lowly into his ear. “Promise I didn’t push Louis anymore.”

He can smell her blueberry perfume – and that’s a bit too close for comfort.

“Not here to think about that right now,” he murmurs back before pulling away. “We’re here to have fun.”

Something akin to understanding flickers in her eyes before Valarie positively beams at Kate. She smiles at Harry’s best friend, holding her at arms length.

“Kate! You look beautiful,” she gushes. “I love your dress! A classic little black dress, with those heels! Perfect for a night like this.”

Harry catches Pete rolling his eyes when Kate demurs and can’t help but flash a grin at him. Classic Kate, brash and loud, but whenever she is around Valarie that goes out the window. Not that he has any room to talk, considering the superstar is daunting.

“So what am I?” Pete slings an arm around Harry jokingly. “Chopped liver?”

“Trust me, chopped liver is a pretty good option; Valarie’s terrifying.”

Valarie turns around at that, pointing her silver nails at him. “I heard that.”

But her blood-red lips curl up at that as if there’s a secret between them. Harry supposes there could be, but he doesn’t know what it is for the life of him.

“Where’s Owen?” He asks instead to divert her unwavering gaze from him.

It works. Valarie clicks her tongue before taking a step towards him and waves a hand flippantly. “He’s off at some other club. Just me and Sour Patch hanging out tonight.”

“Louis came out with you?” Harry says before he can stop himself.

Valarie grins again before she intertwines a slender arm with Kate’s. Kate is nearly vibrating in place, but Harry looks away from her in favor of paying attention to the quirky singer.

“Sure. He got the whole ‘flood the room with negative air’ going on for him right now, so I made him hold down the fort while I fetched the three of you.”

“Soggy blanket?” Pete mutters into his ear as Valarie and Kate lead them through the throngs of people.

Harry narrowly dodges someone’s elbow as they push through the dance floor to get to the booth Louis is apparently at. He nearly misses Pete’s question, so he shoots his friend raised eyebrows.

“What?” Pete asks. “The last time you told me the two of you were hanging out fine.”

“I forget that Kate never tells you anything.”

“Thank you!” Pete crows.

Harry can’t help but roll his eyes as Pete rushes forward to grab Kate’s shoulder and tell her the news. The two just don’t know when to quit it. The day they get together will be his hey-day, cause at this point? They’re probably only going through the actions of friends with benefits plus a lot of angry hook-ups.

“Make yourself comfortable.” Valarie says with a flourish, motioning at their table.

At the sound of her voice, Louis turns his head to regard them with a strained smile. Beside Harry, Kate snorts and shuffles to the side towards Valarie. Frowning, Harry sends her a glare. Even if the songwriter can’t see, that doesn’t give her the right to be rude.

“Why are you even defending him?” Kate splutters softly. “He hasn’t done shit for you.”

“Cause we’re both at fault,” Harry whispers furiously back. “And whatever’s going on is between him and me – don’t worry about it.”

Kate gapes incredulously before placing her clutch onto the table. “Okay, then. I’m going to go dance. Anyone want to come?”

She doesn’t wait before she click-clacks away, glittering sequined dress swallowed quickly by moving bodies. Harry doesn’t know whether or not to apologize or face palm.

Thankfully Pete takes care of that for him. “God, Kate. Way to be an ass.”

Valarie giggles, shaking her head. “The girl’s got an attitude and the makings for a model. Anyhow. I’m going to join her on the dance floor. Whatever you guys drink, it’s on me.”

With that she flounces in the same direction as Kate, all swaying hips and confidence as she flits from person to person. Harry looks at Pete hopelessly, but his friend only shakes his head and utters one word.

“Alcohol.”

Then he leaves the exact same way the other two had gone. Which leaves Harry with Louis. Alone.

The songwriter doesn’t acknowledge him. Head tipped back and pressed against the wall, he looks – exhausted. Even in the dim lighting, Harry can make out the bags under his eyes. Maybe it’s the dim lighting playing tricks on his eyes, but Louis’s striking cheekbones carve hollows in his face. It’s something he has never noticed before, probably because he never bothered looking.

Ghastly, is what comes to mind next. He must make a sound of shame at the thought since Louis looks up at him, pupils blown in the darkness.

“Harry?”

“I – how’d you know?”

Louis motions for him to sit down. Numbly, Harry follows obediently. The songwriter doesn’t seem inclined to answer, just presses head back against the wall and closes his eyes again.

So Harry fidgets, jiggling his leg even though he knows he is probably shaking the table. The silence settles in the booth a little too well, even the music from the speakers feel like they’re muffled.

It’s too much for him and the first thing slips out of his mouth. “Are you on something?”

Louis opens his eyes and for a moment, Harry holds his breath. He has done it again – gone and insulted the man like no tomorrow. God dammit.

The twitch on Louis’s lips shocks him just as much as his answer. “I wish.”

“I – weed?” Harry sputters. It’s not that he disapproves – more like he expected him to be offended.

“Kind of. But at the same time, no. One sense is already gone. I kind of need the rest of them.”

Gobsmacked, Harry stares at him for a while. It’s like Louis did a complete one-eighty from the past week. “You okay?”

“Fine. Peachy,” Louis snorts. “I’m not here on my own will if that’s what you’re asking.”

Ah. There’s the grumpy songwriter Harry is so familiar with. Glad to be back on familiar territory, he sits back content to let the conversation lie.

Except Louis isn’t. “I’m sorry. I – probably shouldn’t have said that.”

“What?” Harry looks up, surprised to see the songwriter has finally changed his position. Louis sits up straight, back rigid against the slippery plush seats. “Why would you?”

“I should be thanking you actually,” Louis continues as if he hasn’t said a word. “Val brought up that you had a few choice words, so thanks.”

“You’re welcome?”

He gets another small tilt of a grin. “I mean it, Harry.”

Harry slumps back against his seat. “You’re welcome. What brought up the change?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re being nice to me.”

Louis recoils slightly at that, but Harry steels himself. It’s true though. The songwriter volleys between two extremes and it’s time to get to the bottom of it. Even if it will be like pulling teeth.

“I’m,” Louis pauses. “A bit stingy when it comes to my music.”

“A bit?” Harry jokes.

Louis’s leg knocks against his in retribution. “A little more than a bit. I don’t like,” he hesitates again, “like to be told what to write or what to do when it comes to my music. It’s stuck up, I know.”

“It’s not,” Harry finds himself saying.

“You don’t have to lie to me about that.” The corner of Louis’s mouth tilts up. “I’ve been paired up with plenty of other people who tell me I’m pretentious. My work doesn’t stack up to what people want now.”

Opening and closing his mouth, Harry can’t bring himself to say much. “I don’t get it.”

What he does understand is the drain Louis seems to be swirling down. _Why_ is a different question and something he doesn’t particularly want to touch.

“What’s there to get?” Louis closes his eyes again.

“You wrote, you actually wrote ‘Torrent’ and made what, two bands known for their music?” Harry presses.

“Writer’s block.” He doesn’t open his eyes. “Those songs don’t appear out of nowhere, Harry. That muse ran away a long time ago and you know that.”

Harry scoffs, then snorts when he remembers Valarie’s words. “Just don’t expect me to be your songbird or anything?”

A sharp honk of laughter erupts from Louis. It’s more incredulous than anything, but the shock seems to spark a bit of life back into his face.

“Where did that come from?”

“Not sure.” Harry shrugs and nudges Louis’s ankle with his foot. “Valarie said something about it, but that’s not going to happen, sorry.”

“Wasn’t going to ask you to be.” Louis smirks. “Whenever we talk about music, we disagree. On everything.” In an after thought, he adds, “Sorry.”

“We agree on that,” Harry laughs.

The corner of Louis’s mouth ticks upwards again and silence settles on them again. Except this time it’s comfortable, even with the thrumming music flitting around them.

“You know,” Harry muses. “I still know nothing about you.”

“Why?” Louis throws back, not unkindly.

Considering Harry is going to have to do pap walks with Valarie on a semi-regular basis, it’s safe to assume they’re going to endure each other’s company. When he says as much, Louis shrugs his shoulders.

“Like I said before, I don’t do heart to heart.”

“You sure you have one?” Harry jokes.

Louis taps his chest with two fingers. “Nope.”

“Thought so, you could pass as a vampire.”

“Who can pass as a vampire?” Pete pipes up, three beers in his hand.

Harry expects Louis to clamp up and retreat to his corner against the window, not blink in Pete’s direction and extend a hand slowly.

“Louis.”

Pete exchanges a curious glance with Harry before gently placing his loot onto the table. “Pete. I’ve heard a few things about you.”

“Only good things, promise,” Harry hurries to add. Now that Louis seems to be in a decent mood, it’s probably a good idea to keep him there.

“I doubt it,” Louis snorts. “Nice to meet you.”

“Don’t worry, I can give you loads of shit on this guy right here.”

“Pete!”

Pete blinks as Harry innocently. “What? It’s only fair.” He turns back to Louis and presses a bottle into his hand. “Harry set his guitar on fire before.”

Harry drops his head against the table with a loud thunk. He needs new friends. Though it is nice to hear Louis laugh like he did on the hill, even if it is at his own expense.

 

The energy in the bar doesn’t seem to die down. Instead, it seems to spiral up. There are more than a couple bottles of beer and glasses strewn on the table by two in the morning, Leaning back against his seat, Harry accidentally slips down against Pete.

“Sorry mate.” Harry pushes himself up and pats Pete down gently.

Pete grins at him, amused. “Not a problem, man. You sure you’re still good to walk?”

Still good to walk? Sure he may be a little drunk, but not so much so that he is completely intoxicated. Harry spreads his fingers out before him and pretends to count them without squinting his eyes.

“Just making sure, no need to get salty,” Pete laughs.

Rolling his eyes, Harry grins and nods before reaching out for the beer in front of him.

Only to have it nudged to the side by a pale hand.

Looking up, Harry squints at Louis. The songwriter is a little fuzzy around the edges, but he can still see the light flush on his cheeks. He must make a noise of some sort since Louis grins slightly.

“Did I take your drink?” He asks innocently

“Well I think both of you have had enough to drink.”

The three of them swivel around to see Valarie and Kate, pink cheeked and hair frazzled.

“My feet are killing me,” Kate groans. Her eyes flash brightly even in the dash of light left in the booth. “We ready to head out?”

“The paps are set up, bodyguards are outside to get us through the crush.”

“Bodyguards,” Harry says. His brain feels mildly sluggish like the alcohol sloshing around in his stomach.

“Plastered, this one.” Pete laughs and slings an arm around Harry to tug him out of the booth. “You good to go Louis?”

Louis cants his head and makes a move to get up. “Paps? Cameras? My favorite thing ever.”

Harry stares a bit. The songwriter has his head ducked as he squirms out of the booth, holding out a hand for someone to help him up. For a moment Harry wants to lurch forward and help him up before he realizes it’s a stupid idea. Pete’s hand around his neck grounds him, brings him down from the sluggishness.

“Okay, someone’s a little tipsy,” Valarie giggles before she wiggles her fingers at Louis.

It must trigger something in Louis, since his smile drops as he lowers his hand. Why? Harry shakes his head slightly, trying to rid the swimming thoughts in his mind. Right now isn’t the time to worry about Louis when he has bigger problems to preoccupy himself with. Namely, the pap walk.

Pete taps Harry’s forehead gently with his index finger and Harry can’t help but smile gratefully at his friend. “Yeah. We should definitely go before he gets any more panicky.”

Shuffling to the entrance of the club takes less time than he imagines. When he manages to get his bearings at the tinted double doors, a burly man dressed in black stands beside Valarie, a hand on the small of her back.

The turquoise haired singer flashes a smile at him. “You ready for this?”

Not at all. Harry massages his temples in with his fingers, the fogginess in his brain dissipating slightly. Maybe he shouldn’t have drunk so many bottles of beer. The soggy feeling in his stomach surges and for a moment he holds his breath. What he would give to have a bag to empty his dinner into in right now.

“You good, man?” Pete murmurs, slapping him gently on the back. “Kate and I are going to head through the back so we don’t take away your star power or whatever that’s about.”

He has to be right? Shaking away the doubts – albeit unsuccessfully – Harry musters up a nod.

Pressing her dark hand into his, Valarie gives him what he supposes is a reassuring squeeze. “It’s not that bad, promise. You’re going to get used to it.”

Pulse jumping, Harry can’t manage to muster up a smile.

That’s the only warning he gets before she pulls him through the tinted doors is a slap on the shoulder from Pete.

The world erupts into a brilliant flash of white, flashing bulbs exploding left and right. It sobers him up quickly, the lancing light dancing painfully through his eyes. Valarie drags him forward, her hair tickling his nose as they push through. The flashes from the cameras make the strands glow like blue fire when he squints through the lights.

“Valarie look over here!”

“Valarie who’s your new beau?”

“Valarie!”

A girl rushes forward and sticks her phone in Valarie’s face, flash going off twice as she is joined by another fan. The bodyguard moves then, going as far to push the fans away from the pop star.

In that moment, the paparazzi press closer and for a moment, Harry loses his grip on her hand. It doesn’t help that the alcohol in his blood slows everything down. He can’t find his way up or down. Blinking again and again, he has to resist the urge to press his hands to his face. People press closer. A camera knocks against his arm. His skin burns at the spot, he can’t anchor himself to the pain either – there are just too many people in such a narrow street.

He clenches his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe. Don’t push the paps away, don’t push the paps away. Look for blue hair. Blue fire. Blue beacon.

When he opens his eyes, all he can see are spots before his eyes. No Pete, no Kate, no Valarie. No one he recognizes behind him. Only large cameras and more flashes, the _ktchktchktch_ echoing in his ears as the cameras swim around him.

Turning this way and that, Harry stumbles backwards. He can’t do this. Not when he can’t see, not when there are just too many people around him.

“Valarie!”

“Harry! Look over here!”

“Valarie where’s Owen? What are you wearing tonight?”

He bumps into another person and redirects his path, scrambling sideways. That’s when he sees Louis.

The other man is curled up in on himself, hands clenched into fists by his sides. His grey eyes are open, darting back and forth as if he is also trying to regain his bearings. The fans push past him like he is just a prop and he sways unsteadily on his feet.

_Ktchktchktch!_

It takes him less than a minute to decide. Louis is his only option, amid this chaos of flashes. Feet leading him forwards, Harry ducks under a camera and several arms to reach him. The songwriter fumbles sideways then, when another person brushes past him, hands darting out in front scrabbling for something to hold onto.

Freezing hands grip onto Harry’s forearm as Louis rights himself. Then he recoils away as if he has been electrocuted, hands glued back to his side.

“Louis,” Harry croaks finally giving into the urge to rub his eyes despite the cameras still flashing before him.

The worst of the throng of people are in front of them, clashes of cameras and phones going off all at once.

“Harry. Why aren’t you with Valarie?” It might be the exhaustion talking, but Harry swears he can hear the relief in Louis’s voice.

Loose-tongued, Harry can’t help but knuckle at his eyes forcefully as he babbles. “I can’t do this – there’s too many people, I can’t see anything. I’m claustrophobic.”

“Breathe.” Louis’s voice washes over him.

Harry drags in a shuddering breath. The breath he didn’t know he was holding rushes out of him in whoosh. After he takes a couple of breaths, fingers brush over the back of his left hand. Alarmed, he looks down and nearly misses another breath when he finds Louis’s hand against his own.

Lithe fingers lace his, bony joints knocking into his before they fit soundly. Eyes wide, Harry looks back at Louis, unsure of exactly what to say. Louis doesn’t give him the chance to ask as he nods at the crowded street before him.

“Walk.”

“What?” Harry gapes.

The hand in his squeezes gently. “I’m blind, Harry,” Louis reminds softly. “And sounds rob me of my hearing as well.”

“You want me to lead you through this?” Harry can hear his voice break and he winces once more. His pulse throbs against Louis’s bony hand and shame sparks under his skin. The songwriter must think he is an absolute knob for panicking –

“No, Val’s bodyguard will,” Louis cuts through his thoughts. “But right now, he has no idea where we are. What we need to do is get through the middle of the paparazzi and fans, close enough to the car where he can see us.”

“I can’t lead --” Harry says before he breaks off. The cloud of people is mad over there; more people than he thought would have showed up for a pap walk.

Louis’s entangled fingers squeezes tighter against his and Harry looks back up at him. “Keep your eyes on the ground – focus on something, yeah?” Louis lifts his hand and offers him a crooked grin. “This if you must.”

Forcing the lump in his throat down, Harry nods only to remember Louis can’t see him. “Okay.”

“Ready?” Louis asks.

Surprisingly, it’s Louis that takes the first step towards the fray of people. His steps are sure, hand drawing Harry to him until they reach the fringe.

“Go,” Louis urges.

Harry can feel Louis’s pulse drumming next to his and it’s strangely comforting. Taking a breath, he lets it out slowly. And takes a couple of steps with his eyes closed.

Louis’s hand clenches against his, hard, finger joints digging painfully into his flesh. It’s strangely grounding, even with the press of other people around him. The world is still blindingly white when he opens his eyes, but it’s better somehow. He knows his hand is probably crushing Louis’s and he knows its mutual.

Gritting his teeth, Harry fixes his eyes on some girl’s pointy heels in front of him and walks towards it. The car is just right there. In front of them, somewhere. Think of the bodyguard Harry, the bodyguard is somewhere here.

A large hand clamps down on Harry’s shoulder and he jerks backwards into Louis. Thankfully Louis only sways, though his hand tightens impossibly more for just a second.

“Move!” The bodyguard bellows next to Harry’s ear.

The paparazzi don’t necessarily scatter, but the fans sure do. They don’t leave without another attempt to take pictures of the sleek Range Rover, though. It’s only a couple more seconds before the bodyguard wrenches the door open and guides them inside.

“What happened?” Valarie bursts out as soon as the bodyguard slams the door closed.

Harry doesn’t respond, just ducks his head down to his knees. It’s not as if he hasn’t seen pop stars have their pictures taken through the windshield of the car. That’s just something he doesn’t want to deal with right now. Plus, it would be nice to be able to breathe again. A hand rubs his back in calming circles, easing his breaths out slowly.

“Louis?” Valarie demands.

The hand stops and withdraws before Louis barks, “What do you think?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do I think?’” Valarie shoots back. “He let go of my hand and I didn’t see him anywhere.”

“He’s fucking claustrophobic,” Louis says as the car lurches into motion.

“It’s fine, Louis,” Harry groans, sitting up straight to put on his seatbelt. Valarie’s mouth is in an ‘o’, eyes drifting between the two of them.

“No it’s not,” Louis spits. “What was that Valarie? You knew how many people were going to show up tonight. You’re a bloody super star – you’ve been doing this for years. Someone always lets the fans know where you’re going to be on pap walks.”

“Louis, it’s not fair.” Harry says.

Valarie tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, properly chastised. “No, he’s right, Harry. I’m sorry. I should have given you more of a heads up. You weren’t ready for it.”

Harry turns to Louis then, patting him on the knee twice. “Thanks.”

It’s a sign that the songwriter doesn’t so much as twitch, just nods. “It’s nice to have someone going through it for the first time a second time, too.”

What? First time a second time doesn’t make sense unless he heard him wrong. Yet, when they pass under a streetlamp, he catches the look on Valarie’s face. She has gone pale, mouth opening and closing as she reaches towards Louis.

“Louis, I’m,” she begins.

“Don’t, Valarie,” Louis cuts her off. He shifts away from her nails when they graze his arm. “It’s done, you forgot, no big deal.”

Even Harry can tell it’s a big deal. The hurt shows on Valarie’s face. She presses her lips together tightly, though they still quaver noticeably.

“You always do this,” she bursts.

Beside Harry, Louis jolts to attention, head turning so fast it could give him whiplash. “What?”

“You always brush it off like it’s no big deal, but it is a big deal,” Valarie says, her feline eyes brimming with unshed tears. “You need to _let me in_ , you need to _tell me_ with words, Louis, what I’m doing wrong. You can’t just shake it off and say it’s no big deal over and over again. How do I know what you want me to do?”

“You don’t need to do anything. You’ve done enough.”

A tear tracks down Valarie’s face before she swipes it away angrily. “Fine, I’m done. Don’t expect me to come back telling you this is your last chance with Stephanie or Joan before they pull something over your head.”

“Don’t you get it?” Louis asks tiredly. “I don’t want to work with XEPA and Magna. They’re vultures!”

“They’re not that bad, Louis.”

Harry glances back and forth between the bickering two, uncomfortable. It’s as if they don’t realize that he is in the van with them. And that’s probably true. If he has to guess, this argument has been a long time coming, something neither wanted to voice before.

“Three albums, Valarie, four tours, in five years. Tell me that they’re not vultures.”

“This is a sacrifice you have to make.”

“Bullshit.” Louis turns away to face the window again as if trying to end the conversation.

However, Valarie doesn’t give him the chance to. She hops over Harry to squirm into the space between him and Louis. Harry goes willingly, still trying to calm his stupid pulse as it pumps away from him, this time for an entirely different reason. Seriously, try sitting in between two arguing friends. The two of them could be more, considering just how tactile Valarie is with Louis, and how comfortable the songwriter is around her.

“You always, _always_ say that.” Valarie grabs Louis’s shoulder to forcibly turn him to face her. “They’re not that bad, if you just give them a chance.”

Louis jerks his shoulder out of her hand to turn back and face the window. “You’re the voice of their brand, Valarie. The fu- spokesperson for XEPA and Magna. They don’t steal music from you.”

Valarie freezes then. Harry can’t see her face, but Louis’s grey eyes burn with something fierce. It hits Harry then, that right now it’s the breaking point for both of them.

“Louis,” he starts. There’s a sour feeling in his stomach, a churning wreck that he knows isn’t due to the alcohol. He wants to tell Louis to stop while he is still ahead, but the words won’t come.

“You did the exact same thing, Valarie.”

Another tear tracks down the side of her face and this time, Valarie doesn’t wipe it away. “Fuck you, Louis,” she whispers. “Fuck you.”

“Valarie--” Louis reaches out to her as if he finally understands that he’s gone too far.

“No, fuck you!” Valarie spits. “You want to dig yourself into a deep hole? Fine. Do it yourself, and don’t come crawling to me when you can’t fix it.”

She heaves herself out of the space between Harry and Louis. At the next stoplight, she slips into the front seat of the car as if she can’t stand even being close to Louis.

The songwriter himself is pale, his hollow cheeks even more pronounced in the scant light the expressway offers. Harry has to remind himself that this isn’t his fight to take for either of them. It’s not like he can offer any reassurances when he doesn’t have any words on his tongue.

Blowing out his breath, he watches it condense against the glass before misting away. And he’s sure of it now. If Valarie is the songbird, then Louis just shot his last bird dead.

 

_***_

_Valarie Kohfman holds hands with up and coming singer Harry Styles during night out_

_Has If It Storms_ _beauty Valarie Kohfman finally settled down with someone after her last relationship with superstar Avery Fitzgerald?_

_The singer, 22, was seen leaving club Highbell with new talent Harry Styles on Friday. This was not the first time Kohfman and Styles were photographed together. The two were also spotted in early May, right after Kohfman and fellow band member Owen Helms won three awards for their album and tour, “Crystal Hands”._

_Styles, also 22, has been signed by Magna Producers and is reportedly releasing an Extended Play in the coming months. He made ripples in the music industry after he and Magna Productions released a cover of Larry Lawrence’s hit single, “Next To You” last week._

_Valarie wore a classy strapless number from Burberry and sleek gladiator heels from Yves St. Laurent. Clearly dressed down for a good time, Styles was spotted in a comfortable white t-shirt and black skinny jeans._

[Click here to subscribe to People for news and your favorite celebs!]

 

Setting his phone down, Harry presses his fingers to his eyes and yawns. It’s been a week since the pap walk and he has only just opened the link Kate had sent him about it.

He isn’t trying to forget it – it’s just something he doesn’t want to think about. The thought of the pap walk has a flush crawling to his cheeks. Just the way he panicked and lost control sends a sour taste into his mouth. The camera flashes and fake shutter sounds have been nested deep into his brain, so it’s unlikely he’ll forget the instant anytime soon. Even now, when he lets his mind drift, sometimes he can hear the phantom clicks of the paparazzi cameras.

Grimacing to himself, Harry slumps down against his small dinner table. At least the media didn’t focus on the second half of what happened that night. Though that probably has something to do with Joan or Stephanie controlling what the media can or can’t use.

His stomach growls and he stares balefully at his fridge. That’s the thing he hates most about coming home after the night shift. There’s nothing to eat except for sweets in the café and after working there for a year, the thought of eating them for dinner makes him sick.

Secondly, pulling a ten hour shifts this past week has done thing to help him stock the fridge. And he is sure all he has is peanut butter and bread crackers in his pantry.

Ambling over to the pantry, he opens the cabinet with half-lidded eyes. Except instead of a full jar of peanut butter and Ritz Crackers, his sight alights on a lone packet of Ramen.

“It’s like a present from past-me.”

Shaking the packet, Harry pads to his stove to heat the water. Whoever says Ramen is for people in college, they are liars. Ramen is for college students _and_ poor students right out of college. Sometimes he despairs of his life choices – he probably should have majored in something else other than music.

God it’s late – enough so that he has started talking to himself. As he tears into the package, his phone pings in his pocket with an incoming message.

When he pulls it out, he blinks. Then blinks again. The last time this person texted him, it wasn’t even him.

 

 

 

> Louis: _Stop by my apartment tomorrow 4:00 - Louis._

Why would Louis text him? A thought pops into Harry’s head before he snaps the noodle packet in his hand. What makes this any different from the last time Valarie invited him to Louis’s place without consulting the songwriter first? Other than the fact that the two fought a week ago.

Snorting, Harry puts down his phone. Then picks it up again to reply since it’s the right thing to do.

 

 

 

> H: Not going unless Louis knows about it already, Valarie.

Whoever is on the other line never replies so he inspects the packet of Ramen. It’s probably stale, but anything is better than peanut butter and Ritz crackers at this point. Which goes to say, he needs to go to the store on his day off tomorrow.

 

Of course, Harry thinks as he runs from the bus stop towards his apartment. Of course the skies would open up and pour down rain like it’s no tomorrow when he is laden down by groceries. Just his luck.

By the time he slips through the doors of his apartment building, he is completely soaked. The air conditioning throughout the complex has goosebumps threading up his arms, which only serves to numb his tired fingers. It also doesn’t help that the elevator in his building has been broken for a solid month.

What makes him drop this haul isn’t the fact that his arms are as tired as they can be. It also isn’t due to his bag ripping open.

It’s Louis sitting at the foot of his door, drenched to the bone with an equally soaked bag beside him. His head jerks up when Harry drops a couple of bags, which is enough to jolt Harry back into action.

“What are you doing here?” Harry manages as he scrambles to shove the cans of ravioli and fruit cups back into their bags. Louis couldn’t have been sitting there too long could he? Since the skies only opened up a couple minutes before he got off the bus, there’s a pretty good chance Louis arrived a couple minutes before he did.

Louis shivers before blinking at him tiredly. For a moment, Harry is struck by how much more pronounced the dark circles are under his eyes as opposed to the week before.

“You weren’t going to believe that I wasn’t Valarie,” Louis says simply.

Harry stares for another moment before jerking himself towards his door. They’re both wet – exhausted in Louis’s case – and the last thing either of them need is a cold.

“Come on in,” he says, then pauses. While his place isn’t messy, there is significantly more clutter in here than Louis’s. Not to mention, smaller. “I –uh, if you take four steps, um, then turn to your right, you’ll be in the kitchen.”

Once the door swings open, he pauses again. “There’s a small table to your left too.”

When he looks back at Louis, there’s a small hint of a smile on his lips. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Harry gathers his groceries back up from the ground. “You can head in first if you want. I’m going to grab a couple of towels.”

The way Louis picks his way through Harry’s apartment is drastically different compared to the comforts of his own home. Though Harry supposes it has to do with the lack of familiarity. He watches as the songwriter trails his fingertips against the table by the wall before slipping into the kitchen without incident.

The sigh of relief he releases surprises himself. It’s easy to admit that sometimes having Louis around puts him on edge. Their dynamic revolves around civil conversation and dissents on music, but it’s not like he hates the guy.

Harry snatches a couple of towels from the closet just past the kitchen, but hovers outside the door. No, he doesn’t hate Louis. The songwriter confuses him to no end with the way he burns hot and cold. Pressing the heel of his palm to his eye, Harry spins away from the kitchen to head to his bedroom.

When he makes it back into his kitchen, Louis looks up at him from where he sits by the tiny dining table, shivering slightly. He looks so pitiful that Harry forces himself not to throw the towel around his shoulders and dry him off. Instead he does the logical thing and presses a spare t-shirt and sweats into Louis’s hands.

“Go ahead and dry off,” Harry says when Louis looks up at him, mouth half open. “The last thing you need is a cold. Bathroom is the second door to the left of the kitchen. About… six steps forward.”

“I.” Louis ducks his head. “Thanks.” He shuffles out of the room without another word.

God. Harry drops his elbows to the dining table with an audible _thunk_. What is Louis doing here? Maybe it’s time to stop questioning the guy. After all, for all he knows, the songwriter is here to make peace with Valarie.

Standing straight again, Harry cards a hand through his hair. He was going to do something… When his eyes alight on his unpacked groceries, he groans. Right. The perishables need to go into the fridge.

Right as he places the soy milk into its rightful place, soft footsteps alert him to Louis’s entrance. While the songwriter isn’t completely dry, he certainly looks less like a drowned rat.

“Feel better?” Harry hazards before rushing to remove the wet clothes from Louis’s hands.

There’s a beat before Louis nods. “Yeah.”

Silence falls between them again and Harry shuffles his weight from one foot to another. He can’t help but watch as Louis seamlessly finds a chair and perches on it, muscles taut as if he is about to spring.

“Um.” Harry opens his mouth and closes it again. He should probably let Louis do the talking. He has enough prior experience with attempting to pry the guy open.

Except, it’s as if Louis pretends he doesn’t hear Harry. He reaches over for the wet backpack Harry hasn’t spotted until now. A folder is pulled out, followed by sheets of – staff paper?

“This is an idea for a song that you can put on your EP--”

Wait. What? Harry reaches out for the sheet music, confused. True to form, the neatly printed bars are filled with staggering notes. But only one has lyrics. “Louis, what is this?”

“The ideas for your EP.”

Harry looks up at the songwriter. Louis has the same blank face he wore at the meeting with Joan and Stephanie, without a glimpse of a smile.

Immediately, his stomach sours and a bitter taste rises to his mouth. This isn’t what Harry wants. Not like this. Not when he knows how much Louis hates having his hands forced. He drops the papers onto the table as if his hand has been burned.

“I can’t – Louis.” He shakes his head before he remembers Louis can’t see him.

Louis looks back at him impassively. “What do you mean? They’re yours.”

“I won’t.” As much as he wants to make it, this feels toxic. “Did Valarie convince you or something?”

“No.”

“If this is something to make it up for being a jerk to Valarie – it’s not going to work,” Harry babbles. If this has to do with Valarie, then he is definitely out. He doesn’t know Valarie well, but even he can tell that just going along with her original plan isn’t going to cut it. Hell, Louis categorized her with the people he dislikes. If Valarie is anything like Kate, Louis is going to have to grovel on his hands and knees.

Heaving a huge sigh, Louis tugs at his hair. “This has nothing to do with Valarie.”

He must sense Harry’s disbelieving glance since he fixes his unnerving grey eyes at his general direction. “Valarie’s out. She wants nothing to do with me, Owen’s made that much clear.”

Harry bites his tongue to prevent an offensive, why the sudden change in heart. Instead he settles for, “Then what are you doing here?”

“I owe you as much.” Louis lets go of his hair. “Consider it a thank you of sorts. I’m a piece of shit to deal with. And it’s not your fault that you’re in this… this mess with me.”

That doesn’t explain much, but Harry slips into the seat across from Louis. “Why now though? I haven’t done anything different?”

“Not everything is about you.” Louis snorts, then winces. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He scrubs another hand over his face. “I’m tired – no, that’s an excuse. I don’t know. I guess you’re right. I’ve been coddled. I push people away. I’m a mess no one wants to deal with anymore.”

“Louis,” Harry says softly, stunned.

“My own band sees me as a charity project,” Louis mutters, so soft Harry has to strain to hear it. “And I’m sorry for treating you like a piece of shit, and like I said, I owe you as much to write with you.”

“I don’t want to be a charity project.” Harry pushes the pages away from him. But Louis slaps his hand down on the pages before he can shuffle them back into their folder. Surprised, Harry looks up to find the bland expression gone.

It’s replaced by a grim slant of a smile. “I’m not that charitable, Harry, you should know that by now,” Louis chastises.

The display from last week begs to differ, but Harry keeps his mouth shut. Valarie’s words on pawns and players suddenly ring through his head. “What do you want in return?”

Louis leans back, removing his hand from the sheet music. “A stepping stone.”

“A stepping stone?” Harry repeats.

“To be better.”

Speechless, Harry settles for staring at Louis. Under his stunned gaze, Louis wriggles in his seat before forcibly stilling himself. It only takes a minute more of silence before he breaks under Harry’s stare. His shoulders slump and the self-deprecating smile disappears.

“Okay, then.” Louis trails his fingers across the table to find the sheet music. Once he does, he crumples them in his fist. “Sorry for wasting your time.”

That jolts Harry into action and he scrambles up to his feet. The screech from his chair scraping against the tiled floor has them both wincing. But it accomplishes what Harry needs it to, albeit accidentally.

“I’m not saying no,” Harry says softly, easing out the pages out of Louis’s fist. “Give me a bit of time – It’s a lot to process all at once.”

He unfurls the pages and cursorily reads the notes on the sheet on top. This one is the only sheet that has a couple of lyrics in the space between the lines of music. As he skims the notes, something in the back of his mind pings. When he rereads the second line of notes, they sound vaguely familiar in his head. But where has he heard it before?

What makes him halt is the first word under those notes.

Looking up sharply, he gapes at the frozen songwriter. “I thought you said it wouldn’t go anywhere?”

Louis cautiously sits down the chair again. “It’s yours. And it’s not my place to decide whether or not it can go anywhere. I shouldn’t have said – and you wrote it as well.”

Thumbing the folds of the paper, Harry looks down at the sheet again. The tune is already mapped out with the guitar carrying the melody. It sounds like the same one they worked on about a month ago – and it shouldn’t surprise him, but it does.

“Thank you,” Harry says. There’s a lump in his throat and it feels like his stomach has dropped out, except in a good way.

Louis must hear something in his voice since he tilts his head up, face carefully composed. Yet there is a hopeful glint in his eye like he is waiting for Harry’s approval.

“Are you okay with it?”

More than okay. “I think it needs a few more words.”

Louis snorts, but Harry can see his shoulders relax and the corner of his mouth twitches in relief. “Yeah, I wonder what gave that away.”

“I’ve got a couple of ideas, let me get my guitar?” Heart thumping wildly, he can’t help but hold his breath.

Nodding, Louis reaches into his bag to pull out his phone. “Good, with any luck, we’ll be able to finish that song today. If you have time?”

Plenty. Unable to keep the grin from his face, Harry lets it grow as he stands. “Yeah.”

 

The song turns out more like a ballad instead of what Harry had originally thought it would be. The more he looks over the draft of the song, the more incorrectly spelled the words seem.

Louis on the other hand, is plucking on Harry’s guitar, muttering the words under his breath.

“Do you think this is good?” Harry sighs, pushing his notebook away from him.

The songwriter looks up in his direction and doesn’t stop picking out the melody. “Do you need a break?”

“I could go for one,” Harry admits. He taps the gel pen against the page. “But I think we should go through this one more time. A couple of the words don’t feel right.”

“A lot of the words aren’t going to feel right the first go around,” Louis says. “The thing that isn’t clicking for me is the chorus.”

“Which part?”

Louis pauses on the notes he has been repeating over and over again. “I think it’s the third line of the chorus. It doesn’t fit with way the notes go.”

Harry flips back a page in his notebook. The lined page is full of cross outs and scribbles, coupled with a few smears where his left hand had brushed the ink. It takes him a few moments before he spies the lyrics Louis mentioned.

“It’s a little short for the notes, isn’t it?” Harry murmurs, pressing the tip of the pen to his mouth. By now, there are probably more than a few smudges of ink on his face and he can’t bring himself to care.

The guitar strings squeak as Louis’s fingers change chords as if to fill up the silence. “Can you read the lyrics back to me? I think that’s the one I’m talking about.”

Taking a breath, Harry squints at his handwriting. “I didn’t see we were falling apart.”

The guitar starts in as he reads. When he stops, Louis resumes plucking nonsensical melodies, chewing on his bottom lip as he thinks.

“It doesn’t fit. I think we need to add a little more to that line specifically,” Harry suggests.

Louis cants his head and stops strumming the guitar. “What are you thinking?”

Truthfully, Harry isn’t sure. This is his _and_ Louis’s song for sure, considering that they’re both constructing the lyrics. What he wants to know is where Louis is getting his inspiration.

“What are we even writing?” Harry asks, setting the pen down again.

“Sorry?” Louis’s brow furrows and his fingers completely still.

That came out wrong. Harry rubs a hand across his mouth firmly, trying to come up with words to put it correctly. “Like, do we have a focus of the song? I feel like I kind of went into this a bit blindly.”

“Well, this is your song,” Louis says. Defense creeps up into his voice, even though Harry can tell he is trying to pass it off as nonchalant. “What do you think of when you hear the tune?”

“No, no.” He can feel the irritation bubbling at the base of his throat. So he takes a breath and scrubs at his eyes before responding. “Sorry, I’m getting a bit frustrated.”

There’s a short pause before the sofa shifts. “I’m the one who should be saying sorry. This is something you’re going to be singing, something you should enjoy singing.”

The laugh that bubbles out surprises himself, but he doesn’t bother moving his hands from his eyes. “You don’t need to keep apologizing for everything. It’s like we’re going in endless cycles of apologies.”

“Are we not?” Louis asks dryly.

“I guess we are,” Harry sighs. He drops his hands from his face and scoots the notebook closer to him. Only to startle when Louis’s hand falls on the edge of the notebook. The songwriter eases the notebook out of Harry’s hand in the moment of shock and flips it shut with an air of finality.

“We both need a break,” Louis explains simply, tone neutral. He gently places the guitar beside him before leaning back against the couch with a sigh.

It’s almost as if Louis cares. Baffled, Harry gapes for a moment until he remembers his manners to close his mouth. “Um.” He falters. “Should we do something?”

“Twenty questions – you know all about me, I know zip about you.”

“Hey,” Harry protests. “I don’t know anything. And you were the one who was against twenty questions the last time.”

Louis snorts and folds his arms behind his head. “I was joking. I hate twenty questions. It’s like going through a press interview.”

The kind vibe that Harry had been feeling pops then. It’s like Louis has this carefully constructed wall that he puts up and ducks behind. He has his moments of genuine happiness or candidness, but those are scant at most.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Louis doesn’t open his eyes.

Harry flounders then. Asking why the blustering wall comes up every time someone mentions music is out of question. God, he wants to know, but that’s a question that isn’t worth touching with a ten-foot pole. “What’s so bad about a press interview?”

Louis’s mouth twists like he knows Harry pulled the question out of thin air. Thankfully he plays along, sitting up to blink slowly in his direction. “They ask you questions that the PR team wants to spin. Most just ask you two or three questions about music at best, then the rest is what sells. Unless you’ve got Derrick there, since he’ll sometimes bend the rules when Joan or Stephanie aren’t around.”

“The two of you are incredibly close.”

“You could say that.” Louis moves a shoulder up and down. “He’s – He’s helped with a lot of things let’s put it that way.” He motions a hand at his eyes before dropping it back down.

Immediately Harry flashes back to Derrick pressing a kiss on Louis’s forehead that night. Louis doesn’t seem to notice the stillness in the air as he leans back languidly.

“He probably shouldn’t be in this industry – his heart is too soft. He’s more like a friend instead of a manager; has your best interests at heart even if it doesn’t bring in the money. Guess that makes him a shit manager in the industry.”

“Doesn’t Magna and XEPA have your best interests at heart?”

Slowly, Louis shakes his head, settling his elbows on the coffee table to regard Harry. His hands float on the table as if he’s trying to look for something, but they still before Harry can reach out to them. The air feels suffocating all of a sudden and Harry struggles to swallow under his gaze.

“Depends,” Louis says, voice tight as Harry feels. “Everyone is in it for the money. They’ll do what’s best when it brings in the most profit.”

“Why?”

Louis looks away then, reaching for the guitar next to him. Yet once he settles it across his lap, he doesn’t play. He just looks blindly down at the strings, fingers stroking the polished wood. “Everything is PR. There is always more in PR to be done. Whether it’s your image, your relationship with someone, a narrative has to be constructed. It’s all dictated by money. Who you want to love, is up for grabs.”

He flicks the G string lightly and the twang of the guitar releases eases the breath Harry hadn’t know he had been holding.

“Why are you telling me this?” Harry shakes his head. That’s not what he meant. “I mean, I appreciate it, but couldn’t XEPA and Magna have changed since you last really worked with them?”

Louis rocks his head from side to side a couple of times. “You’ve got a point. Public life is one thing, private life is another. Being able to do what you love is one thing, but the scrutiny you get for it – sometimes you got to wonder if it’s worth it.”

That didn’t answer his question. Harry watches Louis for a moment; watches Louis continue to fiddle with his guitar. This Louis is different. The guy isn’t open per se, but he isn’t as defensive? That’s not to say he doesn’t still burn hot and cold – the man is still too confusing.

“You’re a wealth of information,” he says instead, standing up. “You want anything to drink? Coffee, tea?”

“Tea sounds good.” Louis plays a couple of chords absentmindedly. “You can take the barista out of the coffee shop, but can’t take the love for coffee out of the barista, huh.”

Harry stands and snorts, shuffling the papers on the coffee table into messy piles. He can always sort them later. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

“How so?”

Wrinkling his nose at the scent ingrained in his mind, Harry shakes his head. There is only so much coffee he can make before he hates the smell. “Coffee smells good in small quantities. But say you open a pack of espresso beans. That’s a bit overpowering and that’s what sticks with you day after day. I swear I can never get that smell out of my uniform.”

“Is that why you gave me a green tea drink when Valarie brought me to the café you work at?” Louis asks, a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.

Harry considers for a moment. He hadn’t even thought about it to be honest. Louis had said to surprise him and the green tea mixed with raspberry syrup combination was something he always wanted to try.

“You looked like a tea lover,” Harry jokes starting towards his kitchen.

“Good guess.” Louis stands up, edging towards kitchen.

Unable to help himself, Harry looks over his shoulder to watch him trace his fingertips against the wall. His steps are surprisingly sure, though Harry wouldn’t put it past Louis to remember the number of steps it took him to get there. The songwriter had left his walking stick back in the kitchen in his bag, so he wouldn’t knock over Harry’s belongings with it. The guy can take care of himself, Harry thinks. He also wouldn’t like to hear that Harry is hovering.

So Harry forces himself to turn back around and busy himself with digging out his many packets of tea.

“You got a favorite?” Harry calls over his shoulder.

“I’m partial to Oolong if that’s what you’re asking. I find it quite amusing that for a barista you don’t like coffee.”

Tossing a grin out over his shoulder, Harry grabs the aforementioned tea. “Being around it day in and day out wears you down, man.”

“I bet. It’s kind of like being around Val--” Louis cuts off.

“Are you two still not talking?” Harry chews on his bottom lip.

Louis blows out a breath and pulls at his hair. Tufts of caramel locks peek out from between his fingertips. For a moment, he looks deranged with his sad eyes and downturned mouth. “I said a lot of things I shouldn’t have.”

Immediately Harry’s mind flashes to the chorus wrote down in his notebook. “We promised each other things we couldn’t be,” he recites. “Is this song for Valarie?”

It would make sense, even if Louis says this is for himself. The lyrics, coupled with the longing tune Louis has written sounds chock full of regret. At least that’s what Harry has been trying to mimic the entire time. The problem is he doesn’t have a clear point to focus on, considering they’ve never defined the main idea for the song.

“Valarie?” Louis says. He shakes his head and takes the steaming mug that Harry presses into his hands. “No. She’s not the only person I’ve burned a couple of bridges with.”

“Owen then?”

Again, Louis shakes his head. “My mom.”

He leaves it at that, taking a sip of his tea in lieu of responding. Harry stares down at his mug. The simmering sadness in his stomach doesn’t settle. It’s not as if he hasn’t done his research on the songwriter. The guy was twenty when the car accident happened and never reappeared on another tour. But to hear Louis has steeled himself away from his family makes his stomach pang with sympathy – yet he knows the last thing the songwriter wants is pity.

“What was driving you for the piece?” Louis pops through his thoughts.

Harry shakes his head. “I didn’t have much of a direction. Kind of just tried to match the tone you were setting for.”

“We can scrap the lyrics that don’t resonate with you--”

“No,” Harry runs a hand through his hair. It’s not that the lyrics aren’t good, cause they are. “I trust your writing abilities.”

“Don’t just trust what I write just because of a few songs I put out years ago.”

Biting his lip, Harry swirls the tea in his mug. He isn’t blindly trusting is he? What they’ve written so far is decent, even if it is a little rough around the edges. “I do like it.”

Lips thinning, Louis narrows his eyes at him. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.” He surprises himself with his own conviction.

This is something he should have done a while ago, even if he was told to trust the songwriter before him. A thought strikes him and he nearly drops his mug.

Louis’s basis for the song was regret, what he should have done instead of pushing his mother away. While he doesn’t have anything of that magnitude, this sentiment might be the same. Excitement thrums through his heart and he places his mug down on the table with an audible click.

“You ready to head back to the song?” Harry asks, skin buzzing.

Louis’s brows jump to his hairline, though he straightens and turns slowly to face the living room. “You sure?”

“I’m think I’ve got an idea of what can work,” Harry admits. “We might have to reconstruct the bridge and the chorus a bit, but I think I’ve got something that could make it sound a bit better.”

He leads the way back to the living room, but doesn’t wait to reach the notebook before he starts again.

“Instead of ‘You were too far to reach, I couldn’t make good on my promise,’ I’m thinking we could shorten it to ten syllables to better fit the first bar of the chorus.”

Louis hums and eases himself into the couch beside the guitar. “Sing along with the guitar for me?”

The now familiar notes of the song drift through the apartment and Harry hums along, toying with the words in his head. They seem like they’ll fit. It feels the same way they improvised – now isn’t the time to worry.

Taking a breath through his nose, Harry sets the words slip off his tongue.

“ _We promised each other, things we couldn’t be_ ,

_Things we wanted, but too far to reach._

_I should have fought for you harder, not watch you walk away,_

_But I broke to pieces, fell on my knees,_

_And we broke in two parts, your heart and mine._ ”

The guitar trails off with one last note, and Harry falls silent. When Harry looks up at Louis, the songwriter has his eyes closed mouth pursed. He doesn’t seem like he is about to move, hand still poised on the strings.

Heart pounding, Harry can’t bring himself to break the silence. If Louis vetoes it –

“Yeah?” Louis’s eyes open and a tiny smile peeks out.

The breath whooshes out of Harry’s mouth in a rush. “Yeah.”

“What are you waiting for?” Louis asks with an arched eyebrow, though the smile belies his tone. “Write it down.”

Harry has never been so glad to listen to Louis, crossing out their previous lyrics with a flourish.


	2. Chapter 2

Pulling off the large headphones from his ears, Harry ambles out of the isolation booth within the recording studio with a large grin on his face. Steps quick, he opens the door to control room where Louis sits on a swivel chair.

The songwriter’s eyebrows are furrowed as he toggles with the multitude of switches and keys to manipulate the vocals.

“Are we good?” Harry asks, peering over Louis’s shoulder.

“I need your eyes for a couple of things,” Louis murmurs, waving a hand at the computer. “We’ve got the back up vocals in place and I think we’re pretty much set. Just need you to see if the audio is where it should be for everything. Otherwise the demo’s good.”

“Got it,” Harry says. He wiggles the mouse closer to him. “Can I press play?”

Wordlessly, Louis nods, unplugging the headset from the desktop.

Immediately the moderate beat fills the room with the accompanying piano sweeping over it. Even though he has memorized the song, it feels like his heart jumps before it falls into step with the drums. His voice swells and rises with the guitar and Harry can’t help but smile.

This is unbelievable. He rubs a hand over his jaw before he remembers he needs to watch the screen. There’s no audible pause or bumpy transition between the audio pieces, even where they’ve pieced together certain parts of the backup to harmonize with the melody.

“What do you think?” Louis taps the table when the track fades out.

“What do I think?” Harry repeats.

He can feel the smile on his face grow wider and wider. They have a demo. With his name on it. And he’s signed with a legitimate record company that has renown artists around the world. Holy crap.

There’s a bubbling in his stomach like he swallowed a bottle of champagne. It’s rising to his lungs, a laugh chasing after it, and he can’t stop it from spilling from his lips.

Right as he begins to calm down from his high, a hiccupping sound stops him short. What in the world? When he looks up at Louis, he finds the songwriter with a hand over his mouth, eyes wide just as shocked as he is.

That’s enough to send him into another peal of laughter and he doesn’t even know why. Doubled over, Harry laughs until he has tears in his eyes. Louis doesn’t seem to be much better off if his hiccoughing chuckles are any indication.

“If you’re like this every time you write a song, I don’t know what you’re going to be like when you release an album.” Louis wipes tears away from his cheeks.

Grinning, Harry tries to gather his breath back. This is nice - the thrill of finishing a song pumping through his veins. The accomplishment has no other comparison except when he graduated from University of Maryland, College Park.

What’s also nice is the disappearance of the shadows under Louis’s eyes and the reappearance of the crinkles by them. The smile he wears is the biggest Harry has seen, genuine. This one eclipses even the one he wore when they ran through the geese at the park.

_Bzzzt!_

The smile falls when Harry’s phone rattles against the counter by the controls. Harry blinks and reaches for it. Kate and Pete both know that they’re recording in the studio today, so they know not to call him. Could it be Valarie?

He brings the phone to his ear without looking at the caller ID. “Hello?”

“Harry.” Joan’s cool voice filters through. “How are you doing?”

“Joan.” Harry swallows. The last trace of the smile is wiped from Louis’s face immediately when he hears the producer’s name. “I’m doing fine.”

“I’m just calling to see if you have made any headway for the EP.”

“Yes, ma’am, we have.” Harry turns away from Louis’s gaze, uncomfortable with how blank it’s become.

Joan hums from the other end of the line. “Are you sure? Cause if Louis has been giving you any problems, just let me know, alright? I know sometimes he can be a bit uncooperative, even though he does have a fantastic ear for music.”

Harry looks over his shoulder and meets Louis’s gaze before turning back to face the exit. It doesn’t feel right to talk about him while he is also in the room. Even though he has a feeling he might regret it later, he switches his Galaxy onto speakerphone. “He’s been a big help. We took a bit longer because – because I couldn’t find my sound.”

There’s a pause before Joan shuffles a couple of papers and hums, this time a little distrustfully. “Are you sure, Harry?”

“Positive.”

“Have you found your sound then?”

“I have.” Harry bites his tongue, debating on whether or not he should let her know about the demo. It’ll help Louis regain Joan’s trust to some extent right? “We can send you the song that we finished?”

“Brilliant,” Joan says brightly. Even though he can’t see her face, Harry can hear the surprised hitch in her voice. “Have Louis send it to me, will you?”

“I can do that.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to seeing what other material the two of you come up with. We’re planning moving your deadline up a couple of months.”

“A couple of months?” Harry echoes. Behind him, the swivel chair squeaks loudly.

“It’s July, Harry,” Joan says, voice slow. “We’re hoping to release your album before the holiday rush hits. Your cover of ‘Standalone’ has received great reception on YouTube, and we haven’t done too much PR work on you except for a couple pap walks with Valarie. Older YouTube videos of your participation in Open Mic Nights and Battle of the Bands have also received a large number in views in the recent weeks.”

“But we’re not done recording?” Harry falters and glances back at Louis. He stares resolutely forward, expressionless. Goosebumps flare up Harry’s arms like the temperature has been pitched ten degrees lower.

Joan clucks her tongue. “That’s why we’re giving you a couple more months. From Stephanie, there is a pool of people who are interested in Harry Styles. They want to know who you are. They want to know what you bring the table. And we think that’s marketable.”

Apprehension drives the bubbliness from his stomach. “So when do you want the rest of the EP by?”

“We’re thinking late October, early November. We’ll need to determine your single and create a cover for the EP. Then, we also have to promote the EP all before the release.”

That’s only three months maximum. And in a month of signing with XEPA and Magna, he and Louis have only come up with one song. An extended play has four to five songs or thirty minutes worth of music. This demo they’ve just recorded only takes up three minutes.

“Harry?” Joan’s voice jolts him back out of his thoughts.

“I’m listening,” Harry croaks, hoping his nervousness doesn’t convey over the phone.

“Stephanie says that Derrick will be sending you the instructions for the Twitter account that we made for you. This is one way we can promote your music and ‘Harry Styles’ to a select audience.”

Dazed, it’s all Harry can do to agree. “Okay.”

“Don’t forget to send me the demo.”

The line goes dead. Harry pulls the phone away from his ear, his heart skipping beats for another reason entirely.

“They would,” Louis says quietly, “They would.”

“Louis--”

The songwriter holds up a hand and takes a breath before letting it out slowly. Still, when he shoots out of the chair Harry jumps, alarmed.

Louis paces the edge of the room, mouth pursed, and hands fisted in the pockets of his jacket. He mutters words too quiet and quick for Harry to catch. His face is marred with a scowl, the shadows back over his eyes and frown etched onto his mouth.

It’s not his place to calm him. Forcing himself to turn around, Harry saves the demo onto the flash drive one last time before pulling it out. When he looks around for Louis, he yelps.

Louis is only a foot away from him, eyes still clouded with anger. But now there’s a tinge of sadness. “I won’t be able to finish the EP in time.”

“What do you mean?” It’s a futile question. He knows what the songwriter means.

“We’ve only got a couple on our hands.” Louis points in the general direction of his bag. “There’s only one other fully written tune in there and we need more than four songs. Some are going to get placed in the vault or completely scrapped.”

A weight settles in Harry’s stomach – and it’s not a comfortable one. He should have expected this though. For a moment guilt for thinking badly of Louis drowns out the annoyance simmering under his skin. The annoyance wins over and he has to bite his tongue to prevent the words from spilling out.

It’s irrational, this annoyance. At least that’s what he tries to tell himself. The silence must speak volumes since Louis has his face buried in his hands.

“I’m going to show myself out,” Harry says quietly, gathering his things. He tucks the demo into his pocket before taking it out after a beat. “You heard Joan, send the demo to her.”

“Harry---.”

Harry stifles the laughter that threatens to crack in his throat. God, he’s exhausted with this two-step-one-step dance. How the tables have been reversed. “We’ve got one song. And I guess it’s better than none, even if we only got a couple more months to work on it. If you’re giving up, then that’s okay.”

Louis blinks up at him with his eyes narrowed. It’s like he expects Harry to yell at him or something. “That’s okay?”

“You can give up, that’s fine,” Harry says. “But I’m not. I’ll see you around.”

There’s a little voice in his head whispering that his reaction is unreasonable. So Harry pauses with one hand on the door and looks back at the songwriter. Louis stares in his general direction, except this is different from last time.

Instead of the dejected slump of his shoulders, his back is straight. His arms are crossed over his chest, his head canted to the side in wonder with a glint in his eye that Harry can’t read.

So he doesn’t. Harry slips out the door with a shake of his head. If Louis wants to try, he won’t say no. But that’s enough pushing and pulling today.

 

There a pounding in his head that makes Harry groan and press his face into the pillow. It takes him a moment to realize it’s not his head; it’s someone drumming on his door.

Blearily lifting his head up to stare at his alarm clock, he groans again. It’s only nine in the morning – and he has the closing shift tonight. Getting up before ten without adrenaline pumping through his veins or without a purpose is a struggle.

Maybe if he doesn’t address the person on the other side of the door, they’ll leave?

With another moan, Harry heaves himself to his feet. That’s hopeful wishing for sure. When he wrenches the front door open to finally stop the god-awful pounding, his breath hitches.

The last person he expects to see is Louis, standing with his reddened fist poised to continue knocking.

“Louis.” Harry coughs in surprise.

Louis slowly drops his hand down to tug at the beanie covering the tips of his ears. “I know it’s a bit early, but we have to go.”

Go where? Before Harry can ask, Louis offers him a lopsided quirk of his lips. “I’ll explain more when we’re on the way there. And dress comfortably.”

He moves in a bit of a daze and does as Louis asks. The ever-present Range Rover is parked in front of his building so he doesn’t even think before he shuts the back door closed. It takes him a moment to realize that for once, it’s not Owen in the front seat driving them around.

The woman gives him a curt nod before the car whirls out onto the street. It’s a testament to how out of it he is as the urge to laugh nervously bubbles up. God, what is his life? Apparently stepping into a stranger’s car without thinking is a new norm.

Stifling that urge, Harry looks over at the songwriter staring resolutely out of the window. “Where are we going?”

“An event.”

“A paparazzi thing?” Harry asks. He doesn’t mean to sound so put off, but he can hear it worm into his voice. Cameras first thing in the morning doesn’t sound all that fun. Plus, Derrick didn’t message him anything about doing something for PR last night. He checks his phone for more messages, but the only thing he sees on his screen is three missed calls from Louis.

“Sorry about this morning,” Harry apologizes sheepishly, tucking his phone back into his pocket.

Louis shrugs and turns to face him. “I didn’t expect you to pick up anyway.”

“Why?”

The corner of his mouth tilts up again. “You seemed pretty set that I was giving up.”

“I--.” Harry flushes. “That was unreasonable. I shouldn’t have.”

A knee brushes him for half a breath - then it’s gone. Somehow that’s more reassuring than it should be, like Louis is acknowledging his apology.

“I would have done the same thing,” Louis says.

He doesn’t offer more, just turns back to face the window. And that’s fine with Harry. A weight he didn’t even know that was on his chest lifts slightly and he smiles.

This is a good change, he muses. It’s not like Louis has done a one eighty, but at least they’re moving forward.

“So, where are we going?” He asks.

For a second, it doesn’t look like Louis will respond. “It’s an event that Derrick’s invited me to more than a couple of times.”

“And you’re inviting me?” The unspoken “because” hangs in the air. Louis still doesn’t turn to face him, but Harry can see the tiny smile on the edges of his lips through the reflection on the window.

“There’s someone – a few people that could help us in the predicament that we’re in.”

Louis closes his eyes then, effectively signaling the end of the conversation. But the silence between them isn’t charged, Harry notes absently. Not like last time – and it hasn’t been. Not since they hashed out the demo.

Flicking a glance at the songwriter, Harry is met with the sight of Louis dozing with his head pressed against the tinted windows. The lines in his face have smoothed out quite a bit. Without the perpetual frown and furrowed eyebrows, the songwriter looks incredibly young.

Whatever, Harry pushes those thoughts gently out of his mind. Wherever they’re going, he trusts the chauffeur will get them there. As for right now, he has no qualms with following Louis’s lead.

 ***

There’s a gentle tap on his leg that makes Harry’s eyes flutter open. His cheek is pressed against the window, breath fogging up the tinted glass.

“We there?” He murmurs, unsticking his cheek. It smarts a bit and there is no way there isn’t a massive red mark on his face.

Louis swings open the car door in response, waving a hand for Harry to follow. Hurrying to obey, Harry nearly trips as he steps out. He half expects to find them in the middle of nowhere, but instead they’re in a relatively packed parking lot.

Banners of familiar athletes dangle from the roof of the building, the Chinese characters balanced atop the Geico logo in the middle of the glass windows. It hits him then where they are.

“Why are we at the Verizon Center?”

Louis shrugs as he slips on his Ray Bans. “An event.” He rubs at his nose a couple of times but doesn’t move from his spot in the parking lot.

What are they waiting for? Harry stares at the songwriter, unsure if he should ask another question. Is there something he should be doing?

Beside him, Louis shrinks on himself and ducks his head. He murmurs something too low for Harry to catch.

“Sorry?” Harry leans his head to hear the songwriter better.

“I didn’t bring my cane.” Louis blows out a breath and it wavers imperceptibly at the end. “Do you mind if?”

Cheeks flushing with understanding, Harry holds out the crook of his elbow to the edge of Louis’s fingertips. The songwriter’s fingers twitch slightly when they bump into his arm.

“You’re going to have to lead me though.” Harry jiggles his arm a little. “I’m not familiar with this place.”

Thankfully it brings a touch of a smile onto Louis’s face. “So much for hoping we’re not going to get run over by a car.”

“Yeah, well, you put your faith in the wrong person,” Harry says. “I got hit by a car my first year in college.”

“Hit” is a generous way to describe it. Bump would be a more accurate description, but hey. It gets more surprised gasps when he tells it to unsuspecting customers. Needless to say, he hasn’t run at dead ‘o-clock at night since.

“You’re still walking and talking.” Louis’s fingers tighten against his arm. “Going into the building would be a good start.”

“You make a convincing point, songwriter,” Harry says.

Yet he falters for a second. Is he supposed to tell Louis where they are? Is there a certain etiquette for this? A glance at Louis doesn’t tell him anything except that the man is patiently waiting for them to move forward.

Questions unanswered, Harry takes a step, half expecting Louis to lag behind him. The other man does the opposite; they fall into step together. The grip on his arm loosens as they cross, until Louis has two fingers lingering on his arm.

“Step up here,” Harry says when they reach the curb.

Louis follows his warning seamlessly as they step into the building. The arena hits Harry with a rush of noise and a burst of air-conditioning.

He doesn’t know why, but he hadn’t expected to see this many people. Sure, Louis told him they were heading to an event. An event in his mind is a hundred people, max.

The entrance of the Verizon center is packed, with more than just a hundred. Harry gapes, stopping in his tracks. Louis nearly walks into him, but halts just shy as his grip tightens again.

“Is this another PR thing?” Harry says under his breath. People move past them without a second glance. They follow the crowd to a row of red, white, and blue tables emblazoned with the Washington Capitals logo. He can barely make out the bolded words of “Skate Strong” beneath the hockey sign.

Beside him, Louis shrugs. “You can see it like that. But we’re not the main event.”

They do attract a few interested stares. Harry shakes them off, too busy craning his neck to try and get a better view of where people are heading next. When the line moves forward, he and Louis do as well, even though he isn’t paying attention.

“Hi!” A chipper voice drags his attention back down.

“Hi,” Harry says. “Do I, um. Sign something?”

The girl gives him a bemused smile. “You might have to if you’re planning on donating something to the cause.”

Donate? Careful not to jostle Louis’s hand off his elbow, Harry feels for his pockets. There’s only a small likelihood that he has cash on him –

Louis’s hand slips off and Harry hesitates to look at him. He pulls out a slip of paper and holds it out in front of him without a word.

The girl takes the slip but not before Harry can catch the numbers written on the check. It’s a thousand dollar donation to the project – which Harry still isn’t sure what it’s for.

“Is Derrick Syed around?”

The girl tears off a receipt and presses it into Louis’s open palm. “I’m sure he is. He’s already signed in, I believe. Would you like me to go get him?”

“Please.”

The girl hops out of her seat and disappears as Harry turns to Louis with an open mouth. Although Louis can’t see, he lets the corner of his mouth quirk up like he senses Harry’s confusion.

“Is this Derrick’s charity?” Harry asks in wonderment. While Louis did tell him Derrick enjoyed hockey, he didn’t think it was this extreme.

“This?” Louis’s smile grows. “This isn’t Derrick’s doing, no. He’s got a couple of connections involved so he shows up.”

“Yeah. First time you showed up, too. Thought this wasn’t _your_ thing.”

Derrick appears in front of the table the girl who took the check in tow. Harry has to blink a couple of times to recognize the PR agent. Without the suit and tie, coupled with a pair of skinnies, a t-shirt, and a snapback, he looks incredibly young. Well, there are a few things that carry over, Harry supposes. Like the large smile and the laid-back air that surrounds him.

“Good to see you too, Harry.” Derrick nods. “As for the event, I think I’ll let the chairs of Skate Strong talk about it.”

“We’re not here just for the charity.” Louis takes a step forward and shrugs. Harry winces at how blunt the words are.

Fortunately Derrick doesn’t seem fazed. He holds out an arm for Louis to take and waves a hand for them to step around the table. “I figured as much. Need a hand?”

Louis lets Derrick settle his hand on the crook of his elbow. “Avery here?”

“Fitzy? Sure. He and his fiancé are in the auditorium with the rest of the people here.”

Derrick leads them past the lane with steady steps. Harry has no doubt the PR agent knows his way around the place. But his mind is still stuck on “Avery” and “Fitzy”. He has his suspicions on who that is. At the same time, getting his hopes up and finding out that it isn’t whom he thinks it is would be disappointing.

“—he’s going to lose his mind. Jay told me that he had flipped when he found out that she was going to be here.”

Harry chances a glance at the songwriter, not at all surprised to find him relaxed. His shoulders aren’t tense and the furrow of his frown has subsided. Compared to all the other suits, Derrick seems to be the only one Louis can stand.

“What do you think?” Louis deadpans. “Marie Kate is a legend.”

Derrick barks out a laugh. “You don’t even follow hockey, Louis.” He throws Harry a smile. “Do you know who Marie Kate Villeneuve is?”

The name sounds familiar, but Harry can’t put a face to it. So he shakes his head. “Is she tied someone in the music industry?”

“For sure,” Derrick says, but doesn’t explain further. He pushes a door with his free hand to lead them into the dark auditorium.

“--- we’ve been doing this for five years now and we’re incredibly thankful that so many of you have come on the journey with us. In our first year we raised five thousand dollars on this same day for an initiative to keep kids off the street. Last year alone, we raised ten-fold.” The speaker on stage pauses as polite applause interrupts him.

They scoot past several people to slowly edge their way to the front. From where they stand, Harry can just make out the man on the podium. His face matches that on the posters that hang on the windows of the building.

He startles when Derrick nudges him to get his attention. The manager points to a woman with her back to them a couple feet away before he nods at the man beside her.

“That’s Marie Kate,” Derrick whispers before his mouth curves up into a teasing grin. “She’s a huge supporter of the Skate Strong campaign. “And the guy she’s talking to? The one in the grey button up? That’s Avery Fitzgerald.”

Wait. What?

Harry gapes at Derrick for a minute before he remembers there are other people around. When he looks at Louis, he has a tiny grin as if he expected Harry to get shell-shocked.

“Told you this isn’t a PR event,” Louis murmurs.

Opening and closing his mouth a couple times, Harry tries to remember how to speak. “Are there other artists here?”

Derrick rubs at his mouth with a hand. “I think there are a couple of models, but I think Fitzy is the only prominent singer-songwriter here. The majority of stars are friends and family of the people who know the Skate Strong Charity Co-Presidents.”

It makes the most sense that Derrick would be here to promote the charity for XEPA. That said, Harry is sure that XEPA works exclusively with artists. “So are you here on XEPA duty? Aside from the charity, I mean.”

Shaking his head, Derrick points to another cluster of men to their right. “XEPA doesn’t represent Fitzy. He’s under Stone Hill Productions and Tablet Management.” He takes a breath, a grin blooming on his lips. “The short one in the middle between the two beanpoles is my connection.”

Harry stretches up on his toes to catch a glimpse of whom Derrick is talking about. At that moment, the shortest of the three turns and catches Derrick’s eyes and beckons them over. Well. Beckons Derrick over.

“Go.” Harry waves him off. “We’ll manage to get where we need to.”

The grateful clap on his shoulder is enough for Harry to confirm what he suspects. He doesn’t miss the way Derrick slots into the man’s side. The nail on the coffin is the hand that slips to the middle of Derrick’s back for the briefest of moments before sliding back to its original position.

“Are they out?” Harry murmurs aloud.

Louis twitches beside him, fingers curling against his elbow again. “Derrick?”

“Yeah.”

“His partner is,” Louis says softly. “Derrick works in the world of PR, so he knows how to keep his private life separate from his public. They’re rarely ever pictured together, but the sports world knows that,” he nods. "They’re partners. Just can’t put face to Derrick’s name.”

It’s hard to imagine that Derrick has been able to keep himself out of the tabloids. In the age of social media, it seems like nothing is private. But if anyone knows the ins and outs of the public eye, it’s Derrick.

Another thought pops into Harry’s head as he looks back to the other side Avery Fitzgerald stands with, presumably, other athletes and celebrities. “Why’d we come here?”

Against his arm, Louis’s hand twitches, drawing Harry’s attention back towards Louis. There’s a knowing smile on his lips as if he knew Harry was looking at the other artist.

“Fitzy, if you haven’t guessed.” Louis nods towards the direction of the stage. “But now we wait until he’s got time for us.”

 

In the end, they don’t have time to talk to the pop singer. A constant crowd of fans and autographs had inundated the stars as well – though that may have been the appeal of the event. Star power and raising money for a good cause.

Harry stares at the sharpie stain on his middle finger. There had been a surprising number of people who knew his name and face. He looks back at Louis idling beside him, waiting for the crowd to disperse so they can leave. It’s like whenever someone asks for a photo, he melts off into the background. Or gets pushed off to the side in a fan’s haste.

Frowning, he rubs at the stain. That had been an experience. Most fans were nice, just. Just some fans were rude – and that’s something he didn’t like.

“Hey, you guys are still here.” A girl’s voice makes him look up.

The girl has a pair of skates dangling from her fingertips as she watches them curiously. She looks a bit familiar – though that’s been happening to him all day.

Harry vaguely remembers her sticking around the stars. Another fan perhaps? “Yeah.”

“Some of us are gathering in the back if you want to come and join,” she offers.

Okay, definitely not a fan. Narrowing his eyes, Harry racks his brain trying to place her. “Are we allowed to?”

She gives a twinkling laugh, long brunette ponytail swinging. “I’ve been coming here since I was seven. The charity owners have the rink reserved for us at the end of the day. It’s like a thank-you of sorts for helping out, you know?”

Not exactly, no. Harry bites his lip, unsure if he should tell her that he didn’t even know they were attending until they arrived. “I’m not part of the organization?”

“Don’t worry about it.” The girl grins brightly at him. “Derrick’s talked about the two of you. We’ve got skates in the back if you guys need them – unless you guys don’t want to skate.”

About to decline, Harry stops himself. If he remembers correctly, Louis has skated before. While he hadn’t exactly admitted that he liked skating, Harry has a hunch that it’s something he misses. The songwriter has been quiet the entire time.

Sneaking a look as his companion, Harry takes in Louis’s carefully blank face. There’s a hopeful flash in his eyes that is gone in a blink. It could have been a trick of the light –

“Yeah. We’ll come,” Harry says.

 ***

She leads them down through the Verizon Center with ease. There’s no doubt that the girl has been in the arena countless times to the point she is this familiar with the place.

“I’m a big fan of your music,” she tosses over her shoulder as she leads them through another door. “Louis.”

Harry halts for a moment. Is Louis going to react? What he does get is a tighter grip on his elbow. Louis’s expression is carefully blank; however, there’s a moment of uncertainty that crosses his face.

“Thank you,” Louis murmurs.

The girl laughs as they swing down another long hallway. “You were always my favorite during American Idol. I’m a bit salty that they muted your mic for most of the show though. You had the best voice out of all of them.”

Muted mic? Now it’s Louis that falters for a moment. Alarmed, Harry grips his forearm to steady him. The girl doesn’t seem to notice both of them tripping over each other.

“They didn’t mute the mic,” Louis says gently.

Harry watches the songwriter curiously. The guy has a strong voice – an even stronger ear for music. He still hasn’t heard Valarie or Owen sing, but in a trio, isn’t it imperative for each one to sing in order to harmonize?

“Okay.” The girl shrugs and pauses before another door. “But my favorite was your bridge in ‘Firebird’. Still is.”

It’s one thing to hear Louis laugh, but watching the wonderment grow in his eyes is something different entirely. There are no words. It’s like the girl has flipped the switch on them, light flickering on in the barest spurts behind them. Harry can’t help but grin helplessly as Louis tilts his head in the girl’s direction.

“What’s your name?” He asks.

“Misha.”

“Thanks for being a fan, Misha. I don’t think I ever got to thank you guys properly for supporting us before I dropped out of the tours,” Louis says bashfully.

Misha tugs on her hair before shaking her head. “As a fan, I don’t think we got to appreciate you until you left. And I think I’m speaking for other fans when I say it’s okay. We’re just glad we got to hear your music.”

“I.” Louis falters. “Thank you.”

Shaking her head, Misha turns her beatific grin back on. “No problem. Now. Let’s go enjoy some ice time. Cause holy shit, I don’t know about you, but nothing beats falling on your ass because you don’t know how to stop.”

She flings the door open to a short half-lit tunnel. The smell of synthetic ice flits through the air, the rasp of skates singing against the ice. It’s only a short walk to reach the rink.

Most people on the ice zip around leisurely. There are a couple of women jumping through the air in intervals, dancing to the rhythm of the snick of skates on the glittering sheet. The speaker from earlier this morning speeds around ice with a child clinging on his coat for dear life. There’s even a photographer lying on ice, camera pressed to his eye as he clicks away.

“It’s a bit of a fanfare.” Misha waves a hand around at the group. “But there’s enough ice for everyone.”

More than enough from the looks of it. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees two figures stop. Curious, he glances over.

Derrick has his hands intertwined with the other man’s, laughter on his lips. It’s like he isn’t aware of his surroundings, oblivious to the world around them. His partner releases Derrick’s hand in favor of cupping his face –

Harry looks away, but he can’t prevent the smile tugging at his mouth. The scene feels private despite such an open place. The photographer, though. When he brings it up, Misha casts a cursory glance at the ice before pointing them towards the skates.

“The photographer? Oh, don’t worry about him. He and Ray are related, so it’s not a big deal. And the photos he takes are amazing. I think he’s looking to get signed by a magazine?”

Ray must be the boyfriend. Everything feels a bit clearer now; it makes a bit more sense as to why Louis trusts Derrick so much. The publicist doesn’t just have charisma – it seems like he has personal experience.

“Louis!”

They all turn to see a man with slowly skating towards the edge. Now, this person Harry recognizes. How can he not recognize the face of the man who he has watched countless YouTube videos to memorize his song?

“Go.” Misha encourages as she swaps out her sandals for her skates.

Louis squeezes his elbow once. That’s a good enough cue if Harry knows one. Swallowing, Harry makes his way towards the singer, hoping that he doesn’t fall flat on his face or something.

“Louis,” Avery repeats. “I thought I saw you earlier. Didn’t believe my eyes.”

“Didn’t think I was going to show up to be honest. Bit of a surprise.”

“Nice one, too.” Avery nods at Misha. “Should’ve heard her when she first got a glimpse of you during the event. Think you’re the only one to scare her that much since I’ve met her.”

Misha steps onto ice smoothly and promptly gives him the finger. It only serves to send Avery into a peal of laughter.

“Wait until I tell your brother!” Avery yells back at her.

“I’m eighteen!” Misha loops around and sprays ice at him. “And he totally owes me for getting your autograph when I was in your music video.”

Avery rolls his eyes and grins Harry. “You must be the Harry Styles we’ve been hearing so much about from Derrick. I liked the cover of Lawrence’s piece, by the way.”

It’s stupid how star-struck Harry feels with what feels like sparklers popping in his stomach. How often do artists he listens to praise him? Never – until now it seems.

“I am.” Harry manages, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Avery chuckles and sweeps a gaze over him. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you’ve got hidden up your sleeve. Going to go on a limb and assume the two of you are working together on the EP or album?”

Before Harry can answer, Louis lets go of his arm to rest it on the boards. “About that, Fitzy. XEPA and Magna are – have given us a deadline that I don’t know that we can reach in time.”

Avery’s eyebrows jump to his forehead as he nods in understanding. “Okay. So you need a bit of help?”

“Yes.”

Harry holds his breath as Avery runs his tongue over his teeth. The worst thing that can happen is the pop singer declining. Be realistic. He shoves down the rising hope in the bottom of his stomach. Wishful thinking isn’t going to help.

“I owe you a couple of favors.” Avery hums before he covers his mouth with his hand in thought. “Yeah, I guess I could. You looking for songwriting or songs from the vault?”

Shaking his head, Louis drums the boards with his fingers. “Whatever works for you.”

“You were never one for making my life easy. How about this. I’ll stop by your studio tomorrow and bring a couple songs with me. We’ll write for the day and see if we can churn out a song. If we can, let’s do it. If we can’t, you can see which song you want to take for the EP – this is for the EP right?”

Something niggles in the back of Harry’s mind. If there’s anything he learned from hanging around Valarie, it’s that nothing comes without a cost. Even with the best intentions. “Do you want anything in return?”

Avery smiles, genuine and bright. “You learn fast. Got a good teacher for it too.”

Glancing at Louis, Harry finds a hint of a smile in the normally blank grey eyes. He turns his attention back to Avery.

“I guess what I’m looking for is mutual promo. It’s not the biggest collaboration, but I think it’d be fun working with a rising star, you know? Good experience for both of us.” Avery pauses, considering. “Heck, I get to work with one of the youngest and successful songwriters. That’s a gift within itself.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere,” Misha says as she swings by.

“Flattery gets you everywhere.” Avery waves her off. “Anyways, I’ll stop by around ten at the studio?”

“We’ll be there.” Louis holds out a hand for Avery to shake.

While the exchange feels so businesslike, there’s a warmth in Avery’s smile that reaches his eyes. “I’m looking forward to working with both of you. I’m off for a couple of laps. You guys should come on ice, you know? Not all that often we get to have a whole stadium to skate on.”

The pop singer wobbles off on ice towards a gaggle of other celebrities without another word.

It’s not a bad idea though. Harry hasn’t skated in, what, five, six years? The organizers even have a couple skates lined up against the boards.

“We should.”

Louis winds his fingers into his t-shirt. “You can.”

“You sure?” Harry wheedles and shoves the thought of helping Louis into the rink deep down. “Just a couple of laps. It’ll be fun.”

“I shouldn’t--” Louis’s jaw works as his eyes flick towards the sounds of people racing past them.

It’s easy to see Louis’s resistance wavering. If Harry remembers correctly, Louis said he loved skating.

“Couple of laps,” Harry repeats. “You know, for celebration for getting the collaboration?”

“You’re asking me to do a celly?”

Blinking, Harry holds out an elbow close to Louis’s arm. “I have no idea what a celly is.”

Sighing, Louis raises a hand. When it touches Harry’s elbow he flinches back, then gently rests it back down. “Whatever. Don’t make this a habit.”

“Can’t put anything past you.” Harry leads them steadily to the skates.

The skates are lined up by size, divided by gender. Harry can’t help but watch as Louis picks out his own skates by fluttering his fingers over the length of the boot. It takes him a couple tries to find the right size. That said, he still laces up his skates ten times faster than Harry does.

Harry blames the crisscrossing laces.

When he has his laces done up at last, Harry looks over at the songwriter again. A shadow has overtaken his face, the frown back in place.

“Hey.” Harry rests a hand on his shoulder. “Getting cold feet?”

Louis doesn’t shake off his hand – that’s a good sign. “Just thinking.”

He shouldn’t pry, but his tongue has a different idea. “About?”

“The last time I skated – was before all this.” Louis flicks a hand in front of his face.

Oh. The happiness in his stomach sours. That would make three years. Unable to think of anything to say, Harry squeezes his shoulder.

“We don’t have to skate if you don’t want to?”

It’s like Louis’s body snaps forward as he takes a deep breath. While a look of trepidation crosses his face for a brief second, a determined purse of his lips overtakes it.

“No,” is all he offers before stomping carefully towards the ice.

It catches Harry by surprise. Stumbling after the songwriter, he nearly knocks them both to the ice when Louis abruptly stops at the edge where the ice begins.

“Is there a ridge?”

“Yes,” Harry says.

That’s all it takes for Louis to step on, cautiously, but on nonetheless. Harry doesn’t know what to expect, honestly. Realistically, Louis would have to regain his legs on the glittering sheet first. In a fantastical world, he would be able to fly across the ice flawlessly.

He does neither.

What Louis does do is turn around and stare in Harry’s direction pointedly. “Are you coming?”

“Uh.” Wow, great answer, Harry.

Edging onto the ice slowly, he grips onto the boards for balance. Futilely. Something or the other goes wrong – not sure what – makes his skates slip under him. When he regains his balance, soft honking laughter reminds him.

“Hey,” Harry complains. “I haven’t skated in forever either. Dirt is easier to balance on.”

“You’re the one who suggested this.” Louis holds out a hand.

Harry shakes his head and clings on a bit tighter to the boards. “I’m only going to drag you down.”

“I need a guide,” Louis reminds him softly. Before Harry’s stomach can drop with guilt, Louis adds, “And I need the balance as well. I’m not entirely charitable.”

“So you’ve said.”

This time, Louis doesn’t grab onto his elbow. He laces their fingers together and squeezes tight. “Let me know when we’re turning.”

That Harry can do. Staying balanced is a whole different monster.

 

It takes a couple tries, but eventually they glide smoothly across the frozen sheet. While he is pretty sure his tailbone is bruised from falling a solid five times, it’s worth it. The way the crinkles by Louis’s eyes bloom when he smiles is just – liberating?

His skate hits a knick in the ice again. The world spins as he lets go and pinwheels his arms. And falls flat on his back. Blinking up at the flags dangling from the rafters, Harry sighs. Hello fall number six.

Louis’s laughter bubbles through his senses. It’s hard not to smile and Harry totally nails it.

“You should have told me you’re good at skating.” Harry groans, rolling up onto his knees. “Clearly the Renaissance Man.”

“I wouldn’t know about that.” Louis grins back. He tucks parts of his fringe that escaped his grey beanie back under.

“Singing, songwriting, skating – that’s a pretty scary triple threat,” Derrick chimes in as he skates to a stop beside them.

The publicist’s cheeks are flushed either from skating or necking with his boyfriend. Harry is more than willing to place it on the latter, even if Derrick won’t admit it.

“Speak for yourself.” Louis snorts and adjusts the fringe in front of his eyes. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a flash drive. “For you.”

Derrick’s cheery expression changes into a look of befuddlement. He rolls the USB in his fingers, checking the masking tape wrapped around it. “What’s this?”

That’s their flash drive. Harry’s heart stutters as he takes in the USB. Louis never mentioned that he had been carrying the song with him.

“Listen to it, turn it into Steph and Joan if you think it’s good.”

Derrick hums in understanding as he pockets it. “Will do. Did Steph mention anything about a Twitter account or other social media platforms?”

Harry nods. She had, but hadn’t given him any instructions since yesterday.

“Great.” Derrick shakes his bangs out of his face. “I’ll get that to you in the next two days. In the meantime, they want know if you guys can sign the skates you used so they can auction them off for the charity later on.”

So that’s why they provide extra skates. Who knew renting the rink for the celebrities had another aspect to it? Harry slaps to himself mentally. Shows what he knows about planning.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Misha skids to a halt before the three of them, ice shavings spraying. Her smile turns shy as she slips out her phone from her pocket. “Could I have a picture? If you’re not comfortable with it…”

Harry’s eyes widen as Louis beckons for the girl to skate to his side. Considering Louis’s track record with cameras he wouldn’t have thought –

“I’ll take the pic, Mish.” Derrick steps forward, hand outstretched.

When Harry is about to pull himself to the side, Misha calls out his name. “You’re in this too!”

“You sure?”

Misha rolls her eyes at him playfully. “Of course, silly. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you in here too. That would have been rude.”

If she says so. Clutching the boards, he slowly clomps his way back over to the two of them. Misha slots herself beside Louis, but keeps her hands to herself. Surprisingly, it’s Louis that winds his arms around them both. Harry jumps slightly when he feels an arm wrapping around his shoulders.

When he casts a glance at Louis, a genuine smile rests on his lips. It’s small, but as bright as it’s been all day. It’s amazing what an ounce of respect can do for someone.

“I took a couple of them,” Derrick says as he returns Misha’s camera.

“My fourteen year old self would have been so proud,” Misha says dryly. “Are you okay if I post this onto Instagram?”

“Go for it.” Louis nods.

Misha beams, hopping on her skates. Honestly, Harry marvels at how she can do it. He can barely keep his ankles straight despite the stiff leather binding his feet.

“Thank you so much, both of you.”

Somehow Harry can’t find it in himself to be surprised when Louis initiates the hug.

Even when the songwriter whispers a soft “No, thank _you_ ,” into her hair.

 ***

_Skate Strong Charity is as star-studded as ever_

_Washington Capitals captain Riley Fortin and wife Grace Song certainly pulled out all the stops for the charity’s five-year anniversary! A throng of supportive celebs joined Fortin and his teammates Saturday, July 16 th, at the Verizon Center._

_On the guest list? Pop singer Avery Fitzgerald and fiancé Marie Kate Villeneuve, model and actress Misha Leweski, fellow NHLers Richard Makkie and Aatos Beaulieu._

_From our inside source, after the charity event, the stars had their own after-party of sorts as a thank-you from the humble organizers. Rising model and actress Leweski shared a photo taken on ice, featuring up-and-coming singer Harry Styles. “We Skated Strong #instagramlessfriends,” appeared on her Instagram the following afternoon._

_[Click to see Misha Leweski star in Avery Fitzgerald’s music video for “On My Knees”]_

_While the Skate Strong co-presidents were running the event, “Fitzy” and Marie Kate were enjoying interacting with hockey and music fans alike. “Avery and Marie Kate spent a lot of time talking to their fans from both the sports and music world,” another source tells E! of the power couple, who have supported the charity from the second year. “We got to see Marie Kate and Avery get put on the spot when they got asked questions about each other’s professions. It was a lot of laughs and fun all around,” our insider told us._

_After the impromptu skate, Fitzgerald, Villeneuve and Leweski were pictured at the beach with Makkie and Beaulieu [photo courtesy of JMKey Photos]._

 

Thumbing the article shut, Harry pads back into the glass room where Louis and Avery are bent over the computer toying with the notes for the song.

“Look the progression sounds a bit wonky.” Avery hits a key on the computer. “Let me mute the drums for now. That A right there should be a B flat. I misplayed it.”

Harry shuts the door with a gentle click as to not interrupt them. It’s futile considering the way Louis’s head shoots up to look in his direction.

“What did Steph want?” Mouth set in a straight line, Louis leans away from the computer.

With a sigh, Harry drops into the empty seat beside him. They’ve been here since ten in the morning trying to hash out the song. And it’s pretty successful, with the lyrics for “I Want to Dream of You” drawn out. Louis and Avery had been trying to toy with the last hiccups with the notes when he had to step out to answer a call from Stephanie.

“She called in to let us know about the publicity from yesterday. I think she wasn’t exactly happy that we went to an event without letting her know.” Harry shakes his head. What Stephanie was happy about was him linking himself to people like Misha Leweski. And he might have neglected to mention he and Louis are currently in the studio with Avery.

Louis shrugs his skinny shoulders. “The woman already has more than enough control. She can deal with it. It’s not like Derrick wasn’t there with us.”

True. Harry shakes his head before leaning over to peer at the screen. There are a couple of extra notes that weren’t there before he left. “Did we change anything big?”

When he gets no response from Avery, he looks away from the screen to see the other singer watching the two of them with raised eyebrows.

“What?”

Avery shakes his head. “You know, I never understood why you stuck with XEPA and Magna when you clearly have no respect for them, especially when they’re your management and producers.”

“Just because they’re part of my team doesn’t mean they’ve got my interests at heart,” Louis says blithely. He pokes at a few experimental notes on the electric keyboard across his lap. The notes appear on the screen before Harry erases it for him.

The neutral expression falls off of Avery’s face, replaced by a bewildered one. “I don’t mean anything by it--”

“Nor is it your place, when you don’t know what’s going on, Fitzy.” Louis turns the swivel chair away from Avery. “We’ve changed the notes on the bridge---”

The air in the room grows tense, thick and stifling as the hairs on Harry’s skin slowly rise. He wants to say something, but what? What can he say? Uncertainty simmers in his stomaching, bubbling up slowly in his lungs. He should say something, he should.

“Louis, I’m just saying, you’re legally under contract with them. If they wanted to keep you around, which they have, they must be doing something right.”

It’s so easy to see the muscle ticking in Louis’s jaw. Pulsing and jumping, it’s stark against the other still shadows strewn across the side of his face. Reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder, Harry tries to placate him. Damaging their relationship with Avery is the last thing they need right now.

But Louis shakes his hand off defiantly. “Don’t be fucking naïve, Avery. Everyone knows they’re out for profit. And I don’t want to deal with a company that is more than willing to sue my ass if I break a contract early. Even if it is a year earlier.”

“You knew what you were getting into.”

“That was before I knew they were going to take my music after I backed out from a tours so I could get back on my feet.”

“You trade one for the other.”

Immediately, Harry knows that it isn’t the right thing to say. The way Louis’s eyes flash is reminiscent of the way they did when he first challenged the songwriter. His fingers dig into the hem of his shirt and wring the semi-ragged hem.

“Why let them take more than they already have? I’ve got metal plates in my knees and cortical visual impairment. I wouldn’t hundred percent on stage even if they did let me back on.”

A pinched look replaces the confusion. Of all the times they could be arguing about this, it’s now. Harry can feel the temperature in the dimly lit room drop by ten degrees although none of them have touched the thermostat.

“Don’t talk to me about things you don’t know.” Louis savagely presses B flat with his pointer finger.

The note rings out in sharp finality. And it’s like lead has dropped in Harry’s stomach, heavy and holding his legs down. That was out of line. Anxiety crawls on his skin as cold sweat breaks out on the back of his neck.

“Fuck-” Avery spits.

Louis’s hands ball into fists and he releases the note. Something in Harry pops like the end of the note had unlocked the shackles chaining him. Knees snapping up, he stands. The wheels on his chair squeal and echo in the silent studio.

Both Avery and Louis gape in his direction, as if they’d forgotten he had been in the room with them.

“Shut up,” Harry says, voice weak as he feels.

No one else speaks, though Louis juts out his chin defiantly. Ember stirs in Harry’s belly. Oh, it’s time to speak – they need this opportunity. Like hell is he going to allow Louis put his foot in his mouth.

“That’s more than enough. I know nothing compared to the two of you, but I’m in the loop enough to see that this is stupid. This happens every time.”

The shock on Avery’s face dissipates. “It does?”

On the other hand, Louis ducks his head, chastened. “Yeah it does. Fuck.” He takes a breath. “I shouldn’t have said,” he breaks off.

Blinking, Avery looks between the two of them before his shoulders slump as well. “You weren’t the only one.”

The silence that descends can only be described as awkward. It settles heavily like a demo leaked before it should have been. Louis doesn’t seem inclined to make eye contact with anyone; Avery, keen to watch the two of them with wide eyes.

The weight of it falls onto Harry’s shoulders. He can’t help but drop back into his seat heavily with a sigh. It’s unbearable.

When no one bothers to shake it, he clears his throat. “So back to ‘I Want to Dream of You’?”

 

It’s dark when they stop, the barest glimpse of streetlights flitting through the studio window. Yawning, Harry gathers his things lethargically. Louis and Avery aren’t much better, packing up their things in various states of exhaustion. The flash drive with their demos goes into Louis’s pocket.

“Well.” Avery claps his hands as he looks around the studio. “I think that’s it.”

Nodding, Harry extends his hand to the singer. “Thanks for all the help.” Immediately he wants to grimace and take back his words. It just sounds so fake.

“Yeah.” Avery takes his hand with a broad grin. “Glad I could help –you been signed right?”

It takes Harry a minute before he processes the question. He blames the exhaustion, but that’s not the case. Isn’t it clear that he signed with a group already if Louis works with him?

“He’s with Magna and XEPA,” Louis says from where he stands by the mixing board. There’s no missing the distain dripping from his voice, thick as syrup. If the way Avery’s brow scrunches infinitesimally is any indication, Harry isn’t the only one who hears it.

“What a pity.” Avery shrugs. “Was going to offer you to sign with my imprint if you weren’t already taken.”

“You have your own imprint?” Louis demands, eyes flicking to attention.

That’s exactly what runs through Harry’s mind. Avery is still so young and plays at mostly sold out world tours. How can he balance between the two? An imprint, from what Harry understands, can sign other artists and help them produce their music.

“Haven’t signed anyone yet considering the imprint is still in the works,” Avery explains. “But it would be nice to lock down someone before it’s finalized.”

He waves a hand towards the door. “But that’s not a big deal. Hopefully I can scour around YouTube and see if there’s anyone else who can bring something to the table. We all get started somewhere, right?”

A pang rings through Harry. It’s not like he got scouted off YouTube – Valarie did approach him after Open Mic. At the same time, everything feels so… so planned. And not in a good way. The path to where he is feels like a series of connections or a step-by-step instruction to fame. Shame grows in his chest, even as he tries to Harry it away.

“You alright there, Harry?” Avery asks.

Looking up from his feet, Harry tries to muster a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Louis snorts with disbelief, but doesn’t offer anything. Avery’s eyes slant over to him for a brief moment before they settle back on Harry.

“If you ever need anything, Harry.” Avery holds out his hand. “Just let me know. It’s been a pleasure to work with both of you.”

“Caused a bit of trouble,” Harry jokes as he shakes Avery’s hand. He just shook. Avery. Fitzgerald’s hand. Giddiness rushes through him even as he tries to prevent it.

God, he needs to get his mind straight. They worked with each other for what, eight hours and now he gets star struck? Sometimes he hates his brain. It’s definitely the exhaustion impairing his judgment now. Definitely.

“No big deal. Shit happens. Now all I got to hope is that those two make it onto the EP, right? You guys have a good night.”

The strangled “goodnight” dies on Harry’s lips as Louis snorts again after the door swings closed behind Avery’s back.

“What?”

Louis nods towards the door. “Might want to get rid of the hero worship now. You’re going to be meeting a lot more people like him pretty soon.”

The giddiness pops and the smile falls off his face. It’s all about the connections – how is Louis so sure that he’s going to get far? For all they know, the EP could flop despite all the PR Stephanie and Joan will set them up for.

His silence must clue Louis onto something. A hand trails down Harry’s arm until it finds his hand. With a jolt, Harry looks down at his hand, where Louis has wrapped his hand around.

“Don’t sell yourself short, songbird.” For all that the sarcasm drips off the last word, it’s strangely comforting. “You’re better than you think you are.”

“I’m not your songbird,” Harry answers petulantly. “And it’s not like I got here on my own.”

Louis’s hand stills before it squeezes hard enough to hurt. What did he say wrong this time? Harry refuses to look down at the songwriter. What he said is the truth – everything up until this point has been basically Valarie’s doing. Well, Louis has certainly helped, but it’s not like he’s crawled his way up to this point. At least Louis worked through a competition to get to where he had been.

“I don’t work with lost causes.”

Aha. Is that supposed to make him feel any better? Harry shakes Louis’s hand off of him jerkily as he pads to the door of the studio. He hasn’t worked his way up here; compared to a lot of other singers, he’s just been handed an opportunity on a golden platter. Even if that was laced with underhanded motives -- but that’s not here or there.

“Put a bit more faith in yourself,” Louis continues as his expression sours. “XEPA and Magna wouldn’t have invested in you if they didn’t see something.”

Stomach still twisting, Harry musters up a smile. “How much did it hurt for you to say that?”

Louis sniffs and turns his face upwards. Fondness bubbles from Harry’s stomach and he can’t help extend a hand towards the songwriter.

“You’re a child,” Louis tells him. If Harry imagines the way Louis leans into his touch for the briefest of moments, no one has to know.

“Just stating what I see.”

Snorting, Louis shakes his head and lets Harry guide them out of the studio. “I hate my management and producers, but even I know they’re smart enough to notice a money-maker.”

Harry bites his tongue as they break into the night. The whooshing cars that blow past them on the street inconsistently mirror his thoughts. Why Louis believes he is a money-maker is beyond him. He hasn’t even made it past creating an EP. If he ever makes it past at this point –

Blowing out a breath, Harry looks up at the starless sky. This is the stuff made of dreams; getting scouted, getting signed, working with renown artists – all of it. People would kill to be in his shoes, to be able to walk the same path. It’s all worth it in the end right?

Sighing, he focuses on the press of Louis’s hand on his elbow.

God, he hopes it is.

 ***

The rest of July passes with a haze of recordings and approvals with Stephanie, Joan, and Louis. That’s not to say everything has gone smoothly. For all that Louis helps with writing, the last song for the extended play is the biggest pain in the neck.

Harry scrubs at his face tiredly, blearily trying to make out the chicken scratch he has written down. They had tried to hash out this song the night before at Louis’s apartment, but nothing had felt right. The chord progression is already set in stone, but everything else? Not so much.

With a sigh, he snaps his ratty notebook shut and tugs his Lenovo ThinkPad over to him from its place beside him on the couch. If he can’t write, he might as well engage in some “fan-service” as Derrick puts it.

It doesn’t take long to log into his newly created, XEPA-managed Twitter account. What takes him a bit longer is to work through his mentions and what people have tweeted at him. Seventeen thousand followers – not bad for someone who doesn’t even tweet by himself, right?

For the most part, Derrick hasn’t tweeted anything else other than generic tweets about “his day.” Harry smirks. Why would these people believe that the person behind the account is always him? There’s nothing to link him to the account beside the little blue check-mark that designates it as his official Twitter. But that could mean anything.

Harry closes the webpage after another beat. Today’s not the day to tweet. He needs his head on tight lest he tweets something moronic like how he can’t drink water without spilling some on himself.

Three rapid knocks on his door shakes the thoughts out of his head. There shouldn’t be anyone at the door. Pete’s gone to California for the wedding and Kate has the afternoon shift. Valarie and Owen are somewhere in New York?

When Harry unlocks his door his brain fails to comprehend Kate standing on his doormat.

“What are you doing here?” Harry fish-mouths. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

Kate shrugs before giving him a smirk Valarie would be proud of. “Be a little happier to see me, will you? But come on, I’m taking you out for lunch or a snack. Get dressed.”

Harry glances down at his sweats and faded t-shirt. What’s wrong with this? It’s not like he hasn’t walked around town in sweats and a t-shirt before. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Kate waves a hand while another ruffles her hair. Since when did she get her hair layered and straightened? As far as Harry remembers, Kate has never done that unless they were going on for the night.

A pang rings through Harry as it hits him. With all that’s been going on, he hasn’t hung out with her recently.

“You’re low-key famous now, Harry,” Kate berates. “Can’t look like you’re not trying. Put on some skinnies and a black t-shirt.”

“And you should be my stylist,” Harry says as he heads back towards his bedroom. Least he can do for dropping out on her for a couple of weeks right?

 

The café they end up in is nothing like their old haunts. Instead of the comforting reds and browns of the nearby Panera, they’re in a French coffee shop Harry can’t pronounce. Not to mention, the prices of the desserts look ridiculous. Seriously, five bucks for a slice of coffee cake? He can get the exact same cake at his job for free. Well, that’s if he “accidentally drops” it on the counter and it crumbles. But that’s neither here nor there. Biting the inside of his cheek, Harry shoves the idea of prices out of his mind.

Cheer up. This is to spend time with Kate, not act frugal.

“What’s the occasion?” Harry asks when they sit down. He winces when he takes in the bright pastel tables and chairs. It’s not that he has a problem with the soft pinks and blue hues – hell, he has some of those exact colors buried somewhere in the back of his closet. They may be reminiscent of his college days, but he still has them.

Just the combination of bubble-lettered napkins and swirling cursive on plastic booths is a bit over the top. He wouldn’t feel so out of place if it didn’t make him feel like an insect stuck in a web of cotton candy.

Unease whispers in the back of his mind. It’s a bit irrational considering this isn’t where they usually go – which is probably the only cause for unease. Quashing his thoughts, Harry leans back in his chair.

“So what’s up with the fancy setting?” he jokes.

Kate rolls her eyes fondly and sets her phone on the table. “Figured we might go somewhere classy, you know? Celebrate your contract?”

“It doesn’t mean anything until the EP comes out.” Looking down at the napkin holder, he tears out a baby blue napkin. As he toys with the edges he catches the gold lettering on Kate’s phone case.

“You got a new phone?” Since when did Kate own an YSL case? Narrowing his eyes, Harry picks up the phone case gingerly.

Yves St. Laurent is insanely expensive. There’s no way, with what they’re both making at the café, that Kate can afford a case like this. And he has seen the way she spends her money, considering most of her closet comes from classy knockoffs at Kohls. Hell, she’s even taken him there a couple of times to pick out a few things.

“About that,” Kate leans forward conspiratorially, lashes sweeping down. “I quit the café today.”

“You what?” Harry gapes. She hadn’t mentioned anything about a job in the past few weeks.

It hits him with a pang. He closes his mouth with an audible click and ducks his head shamefully. Of course she wouldn’t have mentioned anything. How could she when he hasn’t even had the time to message her back beside a few terse texts?

“Yup,” Kate pops the word. “I got a new one?”

Harry waves his hand for her to go on before stretching a smile across his face. Be happy for Kate. She deserves this. After all, they’ve been working at the café for long enough. Maybe this is her big break, her opening to her dream job –

“Valarie got me a modeling agent with XEPA’s branch, Eltys Management. And he’s amazing at what he does. He got me set to shoot with this hotshot photographer who sends his pictures to CoverGirl. Says it’ll help build my portfolio.”

“That’s insane.”

But Harry’s mind is still stuck on the words, “XEPA’s branch.” Admittedly, this is the second level of overreacting. He should be happy for her, not sitting here with his heart skipping every other beat. Valarie doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to starting people off. It’s not to say he isn’t grateful – he is.

The fact that it came with a burned bridge between Louis and Valarie is rather large caveat. Just a bit.

“Isn’t it?” Kate beams. “Like she just stopped by one day and asked if I wanted to help her model something. She said she really liked my outfit when we went out to the bar that night, remember?”

The smile freezes on his lips. Alarm bells are ringing in his head as he takes a surreptitious look around the mostly empty shop. He half expects Valarie to pop out from behind the counter, even though he knows the singer is in New York.

“Harry?”

Caught, he looks back up from where his gaze has fallen to his hands. The napkin is crumpled in his fingers, letters rubbed into frills. “Sorry.”

Kate fixes him with a look before she waves a hand for a waitress. “It’s okay. You want anything?”

Everything here is more than a little overpriced. Chewing on his lip, Harry shakes his head. “Kate--”

“Hi,” the waitress interrupts before Harry can continue. “What can I get for the two of you?”

“Can we get a slice of tiramisu?” Kate asks before winking at Harry. “Valarie took me here a couple weeks ago. They’ve got the most amazing tiramisu.”

“Fantastic choice. I’ll be right out with it in a minute.”

“Kate.”

“No, no.” Kate waves him off, digging around in her purse. “I can pay for it. I’m not modeling for Vans or Burberry just yet, but I’m getting some money off of promoting makeup, and I’ve got a deal on the way.”

That quickly? He rubs a hand over his brow to cover his incredulous expression. This has Valarie written all over it – but for what? She could be legitimately trying to help Kate out of the café job. The café at Borders pays the bills, but it’s definitely on the low end. This could be a break out for Kate, which he is all for. Yet at the same time, he can’t get Valarie’s own words out of his head. Unease crawls under his skin –

Harry shoves those thoughts out of his head. Not everything revolves around him. Not Kate, not Valarie, and certainly not Louis.

“You know, if you’d been around, you would’ve seen that Valarie and I’ve been hanging out.”

Guilt sweeps through Harry again. “Shit, Kate. It’s just that with all the writing and trying to balance out everything,” he stops. “Yeah. I shouldn’t have.”

Kate looks up at him through her eyelashes, “It’s okay.”

There’s a pause as Harry looks back down at his ruined napkin. This is weird. The silence that lags between them isn’t supposed to be this uncomfortable.

Clearing his throat, he pushes the napkin away. “So what’ve you been doing with – with Valarie?”

Kate shrugs, slipping her hair behind her ear. “Nothing too big. Just walking around town, going to landmarks, stuff like that. She posted and mentioned me on Instagram the other day.”

Her eyes brighten as she speaks and even more so when she pushes her phone across the table to show Harry a picture.

Numbly, Harry takes the phone, only half seeing the post. It niggles in the back of his mind that they aren’t clicking, not like the way they used to.

In the darkness of the photo, Valarie and Kate are wrapped up together. It looks like they were in a club somewhere, with the dim fuzzy lights blurring out the background. But the main focus is Valarie pressing her crimson lips to Kate’s cheek. On the other hand, Kate looks delighted, hand pressed to the side of Valarie’s face as she laughs at the phone.

“Oh my god isn’t KathrynAmber the cutest thing?” Harry reads incredulously.

Kate presses her hands to her face. “She thinks I’m cute! I would have never thought I’d get to be friends with Valarie. This is a dream right now.”

Eyes wide, Harry runs a tongue over his teeth, unwilling to pop her happy bubble. For one, he has no room to talk. Meeting Avery was indescribable except for a couple of hiccups during songwriting.

Looking up from his hands again, Harry meets Kate’s eyes. Better to warn her about what Louis has said than to watch her crash and burn later. He owes her that much at least.

“Kate, be careful,” Harry begins and sits up a bit straighter.

Immediately, Kate’s eyes shutter with confusion. “What do you mean?”

The tiramisu arrives then and they both smile their thanks at the waitress. Except she doesn’t leave.

“Can I get a photo with you?” The waitress babbles suddenly. Her words run together and Harry blinks.

“I – yeah, sure.”

As he stands up from his seat, Harry glances at his best friend. There’s a flash of irritation – but it’s gone when he looks again.

“I can take the photo if you’d like,” Kate says, voice lilted not unlike how she addresses customers.

“Would you? That would be great!”

“Oh, no, I’m happy to do it.”

Harry stares at Kate for a moment too long, before he loops an arm around the fan.

“Smile!” The saccharine tone has Harry’s smile dropping from his face as he winces. Hopefully the camera caught the smile instead of the grimace.

At least the girl doesn’t catch Kate’s sugar sweet tone and turns to Harry with a beatific smile. “I loved your cover of Standalone. It’s my favorite cover.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m so excited to hear what you’ve got in store,” she pauses for a breath and flushes prettily. “Sorry for disrupting you guys. Enjoy the cake!”

He waits until the girl disappears behind the counter before he sits down again. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Kate crosses her legs and picks at her dessert primly. “She was an airhead. She just wanted a picture so she could say she met you before you got properly famous.”

Harry leans back in the booth with a thump. The girl is just a fan. There is nothing different about her compared to the other woman he took a photo with at the bar. He says as much.

“She was an airhead,” Kate repeats and licks the cake off her fork.

“Come on, Kate. That’s not fair.”

She doesn’t deign him with a reply and continues to eat.

With a sigh, Harry rubs his hands over his face. This isn’t how today is supposed to turn out.

“How’s the writing coming along anyways?”

That’s an olive branch if he has ever seen one. “Bit stuck on the last song for the EP, but otherwise, I think we’re solid.”

“He’s giving you a hard time, isn’t he?” Kate sniffs. “I totally called it.”

Annoyance surges through Harry. That’s something that Kate has no right to say. She doesn’t know what goes on behind the scenes – hell. He hasn’t even told anyone anything about the music besides the team. Plus, she encouraged him to go for this!

“Have you worked with him?” Slips out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

Kate rears back as she places her fork down. “Why are you defending him? He’s the one who insulted Valarie. He basically accused her of sabotaging her own career.”

“I’m not--.” Harry presses his lips together as he breathes in. “I’m not against you, I’m just telling you what I see. We don’t know the whole story. Maybe Valarie does, maybe she doesn’t. But I know Louis is a lot of help and I won’t be able to finish the EP within the deadline without him.”

When Kate answers him with silence, Harry sighs again. He scoops up a bit of cake with his finger and pops it into his mouth. Although it melts in his mouth, the sticky sweetness sticks in his throat uncomfortably.

“But she told me,” Kate says.

Harry cuts her off with a shake of his head. “Valarie doesn’t see everything. Louis might have a chip on his shoulder a mile wide, but he knows what he’s doing. I trust him.”

When the last three words leave his mouth, Harry stops. It’s incredibly sure – he isn’t jumping out of his skin. It’s just sure. Nothing else to it. And that’s what unsettles him the most.

“You. Trust him.” Kate echoes. “He was the one against you when this all started. Val--”

“Valarie isn’t everything. She makes mistakes, Louis makes mistakes.”

Pursing her lips, Kate waves for the waitress for the bill.

Harry wrings his hands as he watches her hand her credit card over to the girl. Even if this is Kate, listening to her insult Louis hits something in him. Damn. He knows next to nothing about the guy, yet it feels so _wrong_ when Kate insults him.

“Whatever,” Kate says, slipping her wallet back into her purse. “You going to show me one of your songs?”

“Sure,” Harry sighs gratefully. “Let’s get out of here.”

When they step out of the shop, Kate steps close and tucks herself under his arm. Her hand squeezes his side once as if she’s trying to apologize and Harry blows out a breath. Slinging an arm around her, he pats her back. They’re tight, they’re okay.

There’s a flash in the corner of his eye. Freezing, Harry turns in that direction, heart in his throat. But there are no telltale crackles of paparazzi cameras tracing his steps, no howls of his name. It’s all a figment of his imagination.

Right?

 ***

“Which one do you want to hear?” Harry asks as he lets them into his apartment. As soon as they set foot into the room, he feels comfortable in his own skin, like the alarms have been shut off.

Kate peers around his space, glancing at his notes spread on the couch. “The one that you’re going to make your first single, of course.”

Biting his lip, Harry rubs the back of his neck. “We haven’t decided that yet. Louis and I need to decide for sure which ones are going to be on the EP first, then we can see which one going to be the single.”

Kate waves her hands at him like he doesn’t understand her. “Come on, Harry. You already have a single. It’s the one that Valarie taped? The one that started everything?”

That’s not the best song or the one that started everything. If they’re talking technicalities, the song that started everything wouldn’t even be the ones that he and Louis have written. Shrugging, Harry boots up his laptop and clicks open the music file.

“You ready?”

“Hmm?” Kate hums as she fiddles with her phone. “Yeah. Surprise me, Harry.”

The beating backdrop fills the tiny living room as soon as he hits play. As the guitar washes over them, Harry can’t help but let the smile grow on his face.

The chords swim languidly and it’s so easy to remember sitting here on the couch hashing and rehashing the outline. The warmth of the memory extends to his fingers as he taps along with the drums.

When he glances at Kate, her eyes are alight with excitement and something else. She has her hands pressed to her mouth like she can’t contain it.

“This is amazing,” she says over his voice.

And there’s the smile he has been waiting for all afternoon. It’s impossible not to beam back at her and turn up the volume even more. His neighbors might issue a noise complaint, but that’s not here right now. Right now is _music_.

“ _We promised each other things we couldn’t be._

_Things we wanted, but too far to reach._

_I should have fought for you, not watch you walk away,_

_But I broke in two pieces, your heart and mine._

_There was nothing to stop you from running,_

_So you took your chance, took your chance._

_I wish I could turn back time and find you,_

_But there’s a sea between us, between us,_

_Yet I know, I know, I should have tried.”_

When the notes trickle to a stop, he turns the volume down. Applause bursts forth from Kate and Harry ducks his head even though this is just Kate. At the same time, she has her bottom lip caught between her teeth – are those tears in her eyes?

“What’s up with the face?” Harry jokes.

“Nothing,” Kate smiles at him, traces of the tears gone. Just his imagination then. “Just can’t believe how fast you’ve grown up.”

Harry rolls his eyes. They’re the same age – just because Kate is older by a couple months doesn’t mean she’s on higher ground or something. “Shove it, but seriously. What do you think?”

“Beautiful,” Kate praises. “I love it. The imagery, the want – it’s everything a girl desires.”

“I said serious, Kate.”

She laughs, dropping her hands from her heart. “I love it. Really. This would be something I would buy off of iTunes even after it’s been illegally uploaded onto the Internet.”

Even though he knows Kate is obligated to say that as his best friend, warmth stirs in his stomach. It’s enough for him to push away the darker thoughts from earlier.

“Thanks.” Harry swallows the sudden lump in his throat.

Spreading her arms wide, Kate giggles softly. “Come here, you big softy. I know you want a hug.”

Harry doesn’t need another invitation. It takes two seconds to hop off the couch and another half second to wrap himself around her.

She smells so unfamiliar, though, some cool cucumber perfume replacing the soft chocolate undertones. It smells expensive, rich, _money_. But that’s not what they need right now. He ducks his face into her hair and holds tight.

“I’m sorry,” Kate whispers so quietly Harry nearly misses it.

Sorry? What does that have to do with anything? Pulling away, he holds her at arms length. “What for?”

Kate shakes her head and gives him a small smile. “For all the shit you’re go- going to go through as a pop star. Stalkers, fanfiction, all that stuff. It’s going to be crazy.”

“There’s nothing wrong with fanfiction.” Harry tucks her back under his arm. “Why would I be offended by something that isn’t real? Frankly, I’d be impressed if they’ve already begun writing it – I don’t even have a song out yet. They don’t know who I am, you do. And you have nothing to be sorry for – why would that be on you?”

Sighing, Kate clings on tight. “You’re too nice for your own good. One day, someone is going to walk all over you and you’re just going to let them.”

“I’m not going to let that happen,” Harry promises. He rubs at her arm as soothingly as he can. After all, he hasn’t let Valarie or Louis completely have their way yet. Well, Louis has helped more than he hindered. “I’ve got you and Pete don’t I? You guys won’t let me forget where I belong.”

And if Kate is serious about this modeling thing, then there’s no way she’d let him get over his head. They’d be making their way through this chaos together as cheesy as it sounds. Cheesy, but comforting.

Mumbling something inaudible, Kate pulls away as she rubs suspiciously at her eyes. “I just can’t believe you’re here, ready to take on the world. Seriously, this is amazing.”

“I know.” Harry grins. It’s a bit weird though. Kate has never been a crier. Of all things to cry about, it’s flattering? At the same time, it’s tough to see her wipe the tears from her cheeks. He is incredibly lucky, isn’t he? To have someone like her and Pete by his side. For all that Valarie enamors her, it’s so good to know she and Pete will be here to ground him.

It’s indescribable.

But Kate’s phone buzzes, effectively popping the moment.

“What is it?”

Kate hums before she taps it a couple of times. “Just my agent. I’ve got a meeting with him that I got to get to, so I’m going to head out since the car is here.”

“I’ll walk down with you.”

Tangling her fingers with his as they stumble down the three flights of stairs, Kate smiles, though there’s sad twinge to it. “You’re too nice for your own good.”

Harry scoffs. “We work in customer service; we’re paid to be nice to people.”

Before Kate can respond, they’re back in broad daylight. Except it’s coupled with a multitude of flashes. And accompanied by obnoxious clicks that Harry remembers all too well.

“I’ve got a car,” Kate says somewhere by his ear, her breath brushing his earlobe. She is surprisingly calm for someone thrown into a world of flashing cameras.

“Go, go.” Harry pushes her gently towards what he thinks is the direction of the car. It’s hard to see if she gets in with white spots dancing in beneath his eyes, but he tries. The anger swirling low in his stomach doesn’t help either. It’s rising, bubbling and frothing, knocking on the edges of his heart.

Who the hell told the paparazzi this is where he lives? They couldn’t have found his place without either superfans that he knows he doesn’t have or someone organizing a pap walk without telling him.

Ducking back into his building, Harry hisses as he tries to blink the spots out of his eyes. He should’ve brought sunglasses with him – which would have helped _had he known they would be here_.

Lips pressed tight, he punches in the numbers on his touch screen. Why wouldn’t they let him know about the pap walk? It’s his building! It’s his personal life for god’s sake.

“Harry! What’s up--?”

“Why are there paps outside my apartment?”

There’s silence on the other end before Derrick murmurs to someone in the background. “Can you get me my notebook, Ray? Harry? You still with me?”

“Yeah.”

“As far as I remember, I didn’t have you scheduled for any paparazzi appearances with anyone, much less at your apartment, though I might be wrong. I’m checking my calendar to see if I missed anything. Are the paps right outside?”

“Yeah,” Harry huffs out a breath. He can hear the maddening clicks behind the door. “I was in my apartment with Kate for about five minutes after getting off the bus.”

Rustling sheets shuffle on Derrick’s end. “I’ve got nothing listed for you until we decide who you want to have in a music video for your single in a couple of weeks.”

“So it wasn’t from XEPA?” But then who would have known this was his place? Harry isn’t about to kid himself. He doesn’t have that big of a name yet in the music industry, even if Avery Fitzgerald did collaborate with him. Plus, Avery’s representatives haven’t even announced that to the public yet.

“Not that I know of,” Derrick says. “Stephanie and Jane usually tell me these things since I’m the head PR for you and If It Storms. You didn’t go anywhere super touristy where there happen to be a lot of fans and cameras, did you?

Harry shakes his head even though he knows Derrick can’t see him. “No. We stayed away from the Inner Harbor. Kate and I went to La Voir downtown.” He winces as he butchers the French.

“La Voir,” Derrick murmurs. Figures he would know how to pronounce it correctly. “Who’d you say you were with?”

“Kate.”

There’s another pause before some more rustling starts back up. “I’ll be right back, baby,” Derrick murmurs distantly. “Harry? I’m going to call you back, all right? What’s Kate’s first and last name?”

“Kathryn Amber Pemberly. And she wouldn’t--”

“I’m not saying she would,” Derrick cuts him off soothingly. “I just want to make sure that we can shut this down if she doesn’t want her name in the papers. The last thing we need is people attacking her on social media. In the meantime, call Simon so we can get an injunction to prevent the paps from camping out your house. I doubt your neighbors would appreciate the ruckus.”

How can Derrick be so calm about this? Releasing a breath slowly through his nose, Harry nods again. Derrick has gone through this before. He knows what to do. Hopefully. “Okay.”

“Alright. I’ll call you back as soon as I get some concrete news.”

The line goes dead.

Harry pockets his phone and casts a glance through the warped glass behind him. The paparazzi have taken to chanting his name as if it can coax him out. Instead it makes his skin prickle with uncertainty. He hasn’t even released anything yet, what the actual hell? Is Valarie’s media presence so strong that the paps are willing to follow him to his house?

God, he can’t think anymore.

It takes him thirty seconds to scale the stairs by twos and another two seconds to sink to the floor, hands pressed to his mouth. Nauseous.

This is nothing like the pap walk where Valarie and Louis literally held his hand all the way through it. This time is tamer, yet it’s just as mind boggling. It’s feels like they’ve put him in a swirling tunnel with an unmoving platform barely tilted with the walls rotating in a circle around him. And he can’t get it to stop, can’t get out, can’t close his eyes. Brain whirling, Harry pulls out his phone and stares at it dumbly.

It doesn’t ring.

God.

Swallowing the bile that threatens to make an appearance, Harry curls his knees to his chest and drops his head back against the door. Hopefully the paps don’t pull Kate into this.

The last thing he wants is Kate printed as a mystery brunet or something. The hate on his twitter account he doesn’t even run by himself is ridiculous. No one needs to see that. Plainly, it’s disgusting and Kate’s more likely to take it to heart.

Come on. Get it together.

Straightening out his legs, he runs a hand over his mouth. Call Simon for an injunction. Instead, when he turns on his phone, his fingers pause over one name.

Louis has been through this before too. He presses call before he can think it completely through.

It rings and it rings, four, five, and six. Louis probably isn’t around—

“Hello?”

“Louis.” Harry breathes out heavily, unable to keep the relief from bleeding into his voice.

There’s a pause and then a creak on the other end like Louis is sitting on the piano chair. “Did something happen? Did Joan or Stephanie move up the deadline again?”

“No, not at all.” Harry swallows the hysterical laughter that threatens to spill. Honestly, it’s amazing how wired Louis is to the management and producers.

There’s another pause before Louis speaks again, his voice laced with confusion. “You’ve never called me before.”

This is a bad idea. “I can hang up if you’re busy.”

“I’m not. I was toying with a couple of chords. Anything wrong?”

Getting to his feet, Harry moves to stand by his window. If anything it seems like the number of paps outside have doubled. While their cameras don’t look like they’re going off, there are a few pointed up at his window. He lets the curtain drop.

“Harry?” Louis’s soft query pulls him out of his head.

“There are paps outside my building.”

Another beat. “You call Derrick?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?” It’s like Louis has flipped back to all business, all traces of teasing gone.

“He said he’d call me back.”

Louis hums. “Probably checking with Stephanie to put a stop on the media circus. How many are outside your house? Three?”

It’s impossible to stop the sound that he makes. “I can handle one. There are at least seven cars that don’t belong in front of my building.”

“No need to get sassy.” Harry can hear the amusement lilting in Louis’s tone. It’s strangely calming in the face of all the confusion.

“You call Simon yet?”

“No. I don’t have his number. Owen never gave it to me.”

“Of course,” Louis mutters. “Can you head to another place to stay while you call him? You don’t need your neighbors yapping to the paps either.”

Pete is out of town at the wedding and Kate is already in this mess. It wouldn’t be fair for him to bring them to her place. He says as much.

Static crackles as Louis blows out a breath and mutters suspiciously like, “fucking paparazzi.”

“Does your building have a back entrance?”

That isn’t what Harry expects him to say. “I – yeah. What for?”

“Here’s what you’re going to do. I’m getting my driver to pick you up. She’ll text you when she’s behind your building.”

“Should I call Simon?” Never mind the fact that Louis has yet to give him the number.

“No,” Louis says. “I got it. You worry about getting out of there – pack some clothes, they might be out there for a couple of days.”

The absurdity of the situation pops the bubble holding his laughter back. It surges out of his stomach, leaving his shoulders shaking. It’s difficult to tell if he is laughing or crying – whichever of the two.

Louis scoffs on the other end, not unkindly. “Shut up and pack up your stuff, songbird. Welcome to the world of scrutiny.”

***

The last thing he expects when he steps into Louis’s complex is to hear the songwriter growling into the phone.

“Fucking – do you not understand? He’s literally getting thrown into all of this!”

Harry pauses as he toes off his shoes, careful to line them up against the wall and set his bag and guitar inside the closet. The songwriter should know he is here right? The driver did say Louis’s door would be unlocked for him, and it was.

“Owen. I don’t care. Who the hell could it be besides Valarie? She’s his fucking best friend with the biggest fan crush. Val’s done it for that guy in Crowned Kings and it worked. Who’s to say she’s not the one who gave her the idea?”

Heart stuttering along with Louis’s pause, Harry lets out a slow breath. There’s little question that he is the subject of the conversation. The numbness that faded away slightly on the ride over flares up again. He just hopes the other person they’re talking about isn’t who he thinks it is.

“--- there’s no reason for her to do it.” Louis breaks off again, “No. I haven’t paid attention to the tabloids. You know you’re the only that even tries to tell me what happens.”

Forcing his legs to move, Harry follows the rasping notes of Louis’s voice. His mind is a blur.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Louis explodes and a loud thump echoes through the wall as if he has hit the table with a fist. “Stephanie is thinking about okaying it? We’re not even done with the last song!”

To say Harry trips into the wall is an understatement. He falls into it, the clap of his hand against the wall reverberating through the piano room.

Louis swirls around, startled by the noise, yet his voice doesn’t betray it. Eyebrows knitted and mouth pursed in a thin line, his face resembles the storm cloud he had worn when they signed the contract.

“He’s here. You explain it to him. Speakerphone.” He thrusts the phone out in front of him.

“Louis --- you.” Owen curses under his breath.

Harry steps forward unsteadily. “What’s this about the EP?”

Owen sighs heavily, the rush of the action crackling through. “Tell Louis he is the biggest asshole for this, alright?”

“You’re on speakerphone.” Louis snarls another explicative.

“I’m well aware.” Owen growls before sighing again. “So. Harry. I heard this from a grapevine, so I don’t know how much this is going to be true. The best thing is to wait for Derrick’s confirmation.”

“Just tell him.”

“I’m getting there,” Owen snaps. “You know your friend Kate?”

Harry barely registers the question as his stomach plummets. He knows he has to hear this, but at the same time, he feels sick all over again. “What about her?”

“The two of your were apparently papped at La Voir in downtown Baltimore, then later at your place.”

That’s not too big of a deal. They can brush that off as friends hanging out – that’s all there is to it. There’s something Owen isn’t telling him.

“Those weren’t Stephanie’s usual paps. She usually hires Aberration for the celebrity shots. Those were Triple C Paparazzi photographers.”

“Meaning?” Harry can’t keep the bite out of his tone. He knows Owen doesn’t deserve it for acting as the messenger, but at the same time, it’s impossible not to.

“We’re thinking Kate hired them? She’s got your music as well, turned it to her agent.”

Everything is white noise.

Kate wouldn’t – she couldn’t. “How do you know she’s the one who hired them?”

Owen stays silent for the briefest of moments. “We don’t. Stephanie is apparently entertaining the idea of an early song leak or release for you.”

That doesn’t answer his question at all. Maybe Kate isn’t at the heart of all of this. Everything is just a hunch right now. “She wouldn’t--”

It’s Louis that cuts in this time. “Now isn’t the time to be obtuse, Harry. You’re a hot piece of shit right now. You’ve gotten Valarie to vault you to the top, you’ve signed with Magna productions, which is under Umbrella Music, one of the most successful record companies. If there is anyway to launch a career, it’s scandals.”

“She’s got---.” Harry’s words die on his lips. Kate _has_ something to gain. A life as a model to open up, a life into the world everyone craves at least once in their lifetime.

Owen’s quiet, “Wait for Derrick’s call” falls on deaf ears as a litany of “Kate, Kate, Kate,” runs through Harry’s mind. She’d literally warned him of what she would do – maybe he is too naïve for his own good.

Breath tight in his chest, he does the only thing he can do. Laugh.

It stutters and pops in his chest and Harry can’t bring himself to stop. The cold touch of Louis’s fingers trailing against his hand is what makes him miss another breath. In confusion.

Those fingers slowly work between his, tentative as if Louis is waiting for him to pull away. He might. At the same time, Harry can’t bring himself to do it.

“It sucks,” Louis murmurs, squeezing their hands. “It honestly does.”

The air whooshes out of Harry again. If he ever had it back, he doesn’t know. God, Kate. It hurts to realize, to think he doesn’t have the big picture. All he can see is the ugly cracked frame around her.

“Wouldn’t she get fined or jailed for this,” Harry chokes out. It’s unimaginable to think she’d pay the price. Unsanctioned leaks are no laughing matter. The person who had leaked a snippet of Avery’s “Lockdown” was jailed for fourteen months.

Louis’s thumb brushes over his wrist intermittently. “As much as I hate to say this, I think Owen’s missing a couple of pieces. I’ll give Kate credit – she’s smart. She’s not going to do this blindly. I’m willing to put money on the fact that someone told her to do it.”

Smart enough to take advantage, that’s for sure. As if Louis can hear his thoughts, the hand on his tightens slightly.

“We’ll wait for Derrick’s call,” Louis says. “In the meantime, let’s get away from here.”

Get away from here? Harry glances down at their hands, then back up at his companion. The songwriter is impassive, nothing like the stone wall he’d originally worn.

“Where to?” Harry asks cautiously. Somehow he doesn’t choke on his words. “A bar?”

The corner of Louis’s mouth tilts up - it sends a comforting warmth through Harry. The songwriter has been through this before, for better or for worse, right?

“It’s only five. You might want to be sober for Derrick’s phone call, don’t you think?”

“Then where do you suggest?”

Louis shrugs, pulling his hand away. “I don’t tend to go around the city much. But I know someone who does.”

 

When Louis’s driver drops them off by the harbor, Harry is still disoriented. The orange-red orb glinting off the murky-green water doesn’t help him right the world. But it makes everything feel so disengaged.

People mill around like nothing has happened. Then again, nothing big has happened. Kate is one person – this is on a miniscule scale.

Blowing out a breath, Harry shakes his head and tries to focus on the world around him. The boats bob up and down in the harbor, pearly white or brick red, their names imprinted in blocky letters. It’s as picturesque as it can get with the well-kept docks, seagulls, and muted salt smells.

It’s too calm, too much like a story scene. There’s even a man singing loudly into his crackling mic, ignored by most tourists passing by as his speakers splutter. Even among the tourists, he stands out, acoustic guitar awkward in his hands. Good on him for trying though.

“Harry! Louis!” A familiar voice calls at them.

Though the voice doesn’t match, Harry still expects to see Valarie sashaying her way over. Talk about someone who makes a serious statement. But no, it’s Misha with her dark hair streaming in a behind her as she darts past people to reach them.

“What,” Misha asks, skidding to a halt like she had done on ice. “Didn’t think I’d be the one meet you guys here?”

“I--” Harry shuts his mouth and slants a glance down at the silent songwriter.

There’s an unrestrained smile playing on Louis’s lips as he rests his hand on the crook of Harry’s arm. If it weren’t for the Ray Bans perched on Louis’s nose, Harry is sure he would see the crinkles by his eyes. It’s not endearing. It’s not.

“You’ve got anything planned?” Louis ignores Harry in favor of nodding at the model.

Misha shrugs, brushing her hair back. “Well, we’re all D-List stars here. So no need to worry about pap pics. I’m going for a picture free evening.”

Louis snorts and pats Harry’s elbow conspiratorially. “Keep telling that to yourself. You’re B-list from what Derrick’s said.”

This time Misha giggles and throws her arms out. “Is that how you treat someone who’s about to show you around? By insulting them?”

“Not insulting if it’s true.”

“Oh hush, you.” Misha clucks her tongue before wrapping her arms around Harry for a hug.

It catches him off guard for a moment. It’s reflex that he hugs her back. And there’s nothing wrong with hugs – just they’re better when he knows they’re about to happen.

“Heard they’re about to make you start stunting,” she says into his ear. “Good luck.”

Harry wraps his arms tighter around her. She smells like summer, the brush of sand, and soft orange tinges. It’s comforting in ways he can’t make sense of. “Thanks. How’d you--”

Misha pulls away with a bright laugh and a wink. “We’re in the entertainment industry. We love to gossip – and dating stunts or whatever you’d like to call them are like the worst kept secrets in the industry. Everyone knows.”

Everyone but him. Sometime must show on his face since Misha shakes her head and points to the closest dock.

“You’ll learn, promise. I have faith that Louis will teach you his ways. Now, less talking, more walking.”

“Neither of us know where we’re heading,” Louis drawls. “And you don’t want to learn from me. I’m the one who hermits away in my house.”

Harry shakes his head, tucking one hand into the pocket of his jeans. “That’s media perception.” The songwriter does go out, even if Valarie tends to be the one who coaxes him to do so. But it was his suggestion to come out today, which counts for something.

When Misha giggles, Harry glances at her. What he’s surprised to find is the look she gives him before she smirks.

“What?” There’s no reason to do that. What he said is true, though. The media tends to run whatever management wants. That’s something he does know for sure. Well, publications listen most of the time. His stomach sours as his thoughts float back to Kate.

God dammit.

“Nothing. You ever been on the paddleboats?” Misha deflects.

Harry glances over her head to peer at the jade and pink dragon-boats anchored to the pier. There are a couple of boats sluggishly rocking in the roped off area, bright against the rippling water.

Shaking his head, Harry casts another look at Louis. Louis gives a similar answer, with a quick jerk of his head.

“Oh man.” Misha facepalms. “Peasants. I’m kidding. It’s a bit exhausting, but it’s fantastic.”

She doesn’t give them time to respond, flouncing off to the ticket booth.

“It can’t be that bad,” Harry mutters.

“Not scared of drowning, are you?”

Harry startles before giving Louis a wounded look. Despite his condition, it’s as if Louis can sense his indignation. A smirk plays on his lips, though he squeezes Harry’s arm in apology.

“I’ll see how you like it when I push you off,” Harry grumbles as they make their way down the ramp to the pier.

“You wouldn’t dare. You’re too nice.”

The smile slips off his mouth as the words remind him of Kate again. How could she? No. Derrick hasn’t informed them of what is going on yet. There’s no use in jumping to conclusions. Kate wouldn’t throw everything away – she wouldn’t.

Yet somewhere in the back of his mind whispers the same question over and over again: would she?

The hand on his elbow tightens. “Hey. Stop thinking so hard.”

“Sorry.”

If anything, Louis purses his mouth and stops in his tracks, pulling Harry to a stop. “Stop. Thinking.”

“It’s not that easy,” Harry retorts, tensing.

Louis blows out a breath before he nods towards where Misha and other tourists wait their turn. “We’re not on the job. Relax. Worrying about this isn’t going to help.” He sighs and pats Harry’s shoulder, which he misses by a couple inches, clipping Harry’s arm a few times. “It’s easy to say, but harder to do. Chin up, songbird.”

The nickname sticks doesn’t it. Harry musters up a smile and sighs. The whole situation is a mess, for lack of better words. And all he can do is wait, unbearable as it is.

“Who said you could call me songbird?” Harry protests, forcibly shoving Kate out of his mind. Her presence is still there, but maybe a little less.

Slipping his sunglasses atop his head, Louis holds out his hand. “That a bird.”

That alone is impossible to not roll his eyes at. “You’ve been holding out on me. Bad puns are always a good thing, even when you’re the only one laughing and find out everyone else is laughtose intolerant.”

There’s no mistaking the grin on Louis’s lips now. It’s broad and bright with his eyes alight, corners of his eyes crinkling. “Funny that.”

Glancing back over at the harbor, Harry catches sight of Misha waving at them by a purple and green monstrosity of a dragon. It’s hideous.

“I’m second guessing our tour-guide’s judgment right now,” he professes but links his fingers with Louis’s.

Misha snorts when they get closer and points a finger at him. “Don’t think I didn’t hear that.” She bows down as she presents the equally neon orange lifejackets. “Get these on, slowpokes. Let’s take advantage of this opportunity. All aboard the dragon!”

When he helps Louis into the paddleboat, Louis holds on for a moment longer than necessary, squeezing once before letting go. Well, Harry admits he probably imagined that. And if he did, no one has to know.

 ***

They scramble off the boat laughing. The harbor is disgusting, full of garbage and god knows what after years of terrible cleaning efforts for all that it is pretty.

“The two of you are nasty.” Misha yanks off her lifejacket. “Do you know what’s in there?” She pointedly wipes her wet hands on her shorts.

Snorting, Harry nods at her. Like she can talk. As soon as they left the dock, she was the first one running her hands over the water. Then Louis took it ten steps forward by flicking water at them. To put it plainly, it had turned into splashing wars. Looking down, Harry grimaces at the state of his jeans.

He probably smells like the harbor itself at this point, considering how his sleeves are soaked and his jeans are stained with dark splotches of water. Woops. Gross, yes, but it was fun while it lasted.

“I plead the fifth,” Misha says and reties her ponytail. “Oh, I spy something with my little eyes.”

“Is she really playing this game?” Louis says as he unclasps the buckle on his jacket.

Harry knocks his elbows with the songwriter as he takes the orange monstrosity from him. “How old are you?”

Predictably, Misha pouts as she points up the wooden ramp. “I’m eighteen, almost nineteen, thank you very much. And, that guy is still playing music.”

“Your point?” Harry raises his eyebrows, but he and Louis dutifully follow her off the dock, away from the dragon boats.

“What is she doing?” Louis whispers as he slips the sunglasses from his head onto his shirt.

Harry shakes his head. “Hell if I know.” There’s no way for Louis to know Misha is standing before the guitarist, fiddling with his mic and speakers. “She’s given him a bit of money for his performance.”

And she has. From the sounds of it, she has also requested a song as well. It’s an old piece that Harry can’t remember the name of, though it doesn’t help that the guitarist is a bit out of tune.

“Come on, come on,” Misha sings as she waves them over.

“What are you doing?” Harry can’t help but laugh as Misha skips over and takes Louis’s hands in hers.

“Trying to convince you to dance.”

“No.” Louis denies immediately, but he doesn’t pull his hands out of hers. It’s a good sign at the very least.

Misha drops his hands and turns her big brown eyes on Harry. “Not even one?”

Around them, the strumming picks up in tempo, the mistakes loud in the speakers. Maybe it’s the way everything feels loose or the way the singer warbles the song – it’s enough to make him smile. “Go on, Louis. What’s stopping you?”

“I---.” Louis’s lips twitch as he dips his head down to his chest for a moment then looks back up in Harry’s direction. “You traitor.” The upward tilt of his mouth belies his words though.

“Totally hit the nail on the head, didn’t I?” Harry pats him on the shoulder. “So is that a yes?”

Louis huffs before letting out a put upon sigh. “Just one.”

“Sweet!” Misha tucks her hands back into Louis’s before slowly leaning him to the middle of the cobbled street. She ignores all the stares, caning her head up and offering them her smile.

The girl, even as young as she is, is a piece of work. Youthful, pretty, and relentless. If Harry has to compare her to anyone, it’d definitely be Valarie. She is like a younger – but not by much – Valarie. Perhaps she is just as manipulative, perhaps she isn’t, he doesn’t know. This, though, is nice. Watching her bright bubbliness enliven the space is a breather.

Resting his arms behind the bench, Harry can’t help but grin as he watches the two of them swing in circles, oblivious to onlookers. Misha’s in the middle of attempting to twirl Louis, their arms a tangle above their heads. The model is her usual laughing self – and Louis?

It wouldn’t be fair to say his smile makes Harry breathless. It doesn’t. What it does is make him freeze. Louis has his head thrown back as he picks his way on the street, following Misha’s carefree lead.

With their silhouettes backlit by the sunlight, it strikes him then. This is what he wants to see. Maybe this is what Louis was like before, full of laughter and honking laughs, willing to dance without inhibitions, willing to dip his hands in foul water for fun. And it sucks knowing that so much has been drained from him.

Taking a breath, Harry fishes out his phone to capture the moment before it escapes. It’s a good moment – gold even. So sue him if he wants just a piece of that happiness.

The music, filled with hitching breaths as it is, fills the empty spaces to Misha’s giggles and Louis’s spluttering laughs. It eases the tension Harry didn’t know he had on his shoulders as he cheers along with him.

“Harry!” Misha beckons him as she twists her hips back and forth. The girl is all legs – it’s amazing she doesn’t clip her dance partner, even as graceful as she is.

“I’m good!” Harry waves her off. “I’m more about the music.”

The guitar cuts off and the man beside him croaks, “You know how to play?”

Startled, Harry jolts to take in the grizzled singer beside him. “I do.”

The thick wrinkles by the man’s mouth broaden as he grins and wrenches off the headset from his ears and dumps it unceremoniously into Harry’s lap. “Go ahead.”

“What?” Harry blinks as the guitar finds its way into his hands as well.

“Play the couple a song.” The man hooks the microphone behind Harry’s ear. “I need a breather and don’t want to ruin their fun.”

“Sir, this is your guitar,” Harry protests even as he strokes the fingerboard lovingly. It’s a bit beat up, but it sings so beautifully when he plucks the A string.

The man barks out a chuckle before coughing, breath smelling of stale cigarettes. “I’m keeping the guitar, kid. Who knows, maybe you’ll even get picked up by a talent agent.”

Biting his lip, Harry looks over at Misha and Louis. He doesn’t need to get scouted – is he even allowed to play? For all of his worried thoughts, neither of his companions feel the same, not with those expressions. Misha, the goof, has her thumbs up by the side of her face and Louis. Well, Louis as a tiny smile etched on his face and gives him the tiniest of nods as if he knows Harry is waiting for him.

“Give it a ride,” the man cajoles as he fishes out a flask.

He has nothing to lose. Harry slips the guitar strap over his head and toggles with the kepo, mind a blur. There’s only one song his mind keeps coming back to.

The first note of the song is like stepping underwater. It’s soothing in a way he can’t describe as the notes he hasn’t played in months come back to him. It isn’t meant to played acoustically, but judging by the way Misha’s eyes light up, it’s not a problem. It takes a bit of concentration to drum the rhythm while playing the right notes –

Harry shakes his head. Stop overthinking. Just play.

“ _I don’t know, don’t know how to take it in_ ,

_The crashing waves against my skin._

_I know I shouldn’t stand and stay,_

_Yet I can’t bring myself to pull away_.”

People are beginning to gather by Misha and Louis to watch the spectacle, to watch Misha sway along with the music with her arms over her head. It makes Harry smile, to see her enjoy this as if they’re at a real concert. As he thumbs the interlude, he takes a breath and lets it catch as he focuses on Louis.

Everything is so sure, the way the tiny smile turns a shade beatific as he recognizes the lyrics of the song he wrote. Something surges in Harry, something warm that pushes his confidence.

“ _You’ve got me sinking_

_You’ve got me sinking_

_I’m falling ten feet down._

_You’ve got me sinking,_

_You’ve got me sinking,_

_I’m falling ten feet down.”_

It’s impossible to look away from Louis. His feet draw him closer to the other man, mindful of the wires by his feet. Everything else fades to the background as he pulls the mic away from his mouth, grin widening.

“Sing.”

“ _People tell me that you’ll drag me down so far,_

_But I’m already in so deep and I dunno if they can see_

_I just want to make it out alive, yeah._

_I know you won’t let me leave_

_So I’m trying to remember how to breathe_

_I’m lost in the torrent can’t you see.”_

Excitement surges up in his chest as he prances away from Louis, strumming and plucking the guitar with ease. There are more than a couple people surrounding them now, a few dancing and cheering along with Misha. Some even have their cameras out, but Harry can’t bring himself to care.

Louis’s eyes are crescents as Harry approaches again leading to the chorus. This time neither of them hold back. Harry leans in close; close enough to feel Louis’s breath ghosting by his lips as he sings. Within the euphoria, all he can focus on is the way Louis loses himself in the song; the way Louis’s hand clutches his shoulder as they move as one.

“ _I know you won’t let me leave_

_So I’m trying to remember how to breathe_

_I’m lost in the torrent can’t you see.”_

When Harry plucks the last note, he drops his head against Louis’s. Their breathing falls in synch, Harry’s breaths coming in pants. The songwriter doesn’t flinch back, his smile never dimming. There’s a roar in Harry’s ears as Louis’s hand works its way up to cup the back of his neck. Unbidden, his eyes flick to Louis’s mouth –

“Thank you,” Louis breathes softly, nose bumping into the microphone.

The crackle of the speakers jolts them apart. Harry looks up, disoriented as he pulls the headset off. The people around them have multiplied, more phones and their infuriating clicks than before. He can’t see the man he borrowed his guitar from or Misha for that matter. It’s like the crowd that presses closer has swallowed both of them up.

He gulps the lump building in his throat. This isn’t as bad as it could be. This isn’t as bad as it could be. A flash goes off in his eyes.

Flinching backwards, Harry stumbles back into Louis, the heavy weight of déjà vu running through his veins. Performing in front of a crowd he can do; dancing in clubs aren’t a problem either. But shoving cameras in his face and the space shrinking in front of his eyes sets off his claustrophobia like no one’s business.

“Harry!”

“Misha are you dating Avery Fitzgerald?!”

“What a performance!”

“Look over here, Harry!”

“Is that Louis Tomlinson?”

Something metallically cold presses against his arm and side before it finds his open hand. Blindly, Harry gropes for the object, trying to blink the spots out of his eyes. Another hand grips his shoulder tightly and Harry’s heart surges ---

“Put those on.” Louis’s voice brushes by his ear. “Is the guitar connected to the speakers wirelessly or?”

Harry fumbles for the sunglasses in his hands before he can get them on his face. His shaking hands don’t help, especially when they’ve suddenly become cold and clammy. Wait. Louis asked him a question.

“Not wireless,” Harry forces out.

The hand on his shoulder squeezes again and Harry tries to breathe deeply. Focus on that. “Good. Follow the wire to the speakers. Misha can find us better there out of the mob.”

But there are people in the way. Harry blinks against the flashes going. The sunglasses do help with their tinted orange, but he still can’t see past the numerous arms and heads.

The hand snakes down from his shoulder to his hand. “Do you trust me?”

“Yeah.” That’s without question.

“Then trust me on this.”

And Harry does. The guitar slung around his chest doesn’t help him by any means, but it does serve its purpose. The crowd pushes and pulls as he shuffles forward, skin crawling like there are invisible fingers running down his arms.

“Proper rock star, aren’t you?” The grizzled man crows around a cigarette once Harry and Louis emerge.

“That he is.” Misha materializes behind them. “Thank you for letting us borrow your guitar, sir.”

“Sure thing, good music at the harbor is always good.”

Misha helps Harry unclip the strap from his shoulders and return the headset back to the man. Her pinched expression is as unhappy as Harry has ever seen her, playful pout and beaming smiles gone.

The crowd pushes in closer and Harry can only watch as Misha ducks out of a selfie with insincere apologies.

“My driver should be here in a couple minutes,” Misha says as she darts under yet another arm reaching for her. “I know a place we can hide out until he gets here.”

“What are you waiting for?” Louis exclaims by Harry’s ear.

A ghost of a smile worms its way onto her mouth and she interlocks her hand with Harry’s free one. “Thought you never ask.”

She grabs Harry’s free hand before she starts threading through the crowd, pushing past people with a thin, “Excuse me, sorry, thank you.”

Pulse still pumping, Harry doesn’t take anything in as Misha pulls them up the steps into the mall. That said, he still has half a mind to warn Louis of the uneven concrete.

“’Scuse me,” Misha calls as they shove through the mall.

The shock of air conditioning against his sweating skin makes a gasp jolt through him even as Misha drags them into a tiny glass convenience store.

The girl at the register looks up from her phone in shock as they stumble through. “Hey, no, you can’t do that!”

If he weren’t so busy trying to catch his breath, he would laugh at Misha’s answering grimace. The girl’s words fall on deaf ears as Misha hurriedly swings the glass doors closed, flicking the lock closed with a thick clunk.

“We’ll only be here for a little bit,” Louis says, brushing his caramel fringe out of his eyes.

He still hasn’t let go of Harry’s hand.

The girl looks back and forth between the three of them, mouth opening and closing. “You’re Misha Leweski.”

Something flashes in Misha’s eyes, too quick for Harry to catalogue. “I am.”

“Your brother is one of the best hitters I’ve ever seen,” the girl says haltingly. “And your dad was such a good pitcher.”

“Thank you. I’ll let them know that,” Misha pauses as her eyes dart to the large crowd of people fathering right outside of the glass doors. “Thanks for letting us stay here for a bit.”

The girl nods jerkily, seemingly still star struck. “Yeah. Sure. Like, Orioles and Ravens Nation right?”

“Orioles and Raven’s Nation,” Misha nods. She takes a couple steps back into an aisle. “We’re just going to browse around. Thanks.”

Without waiting for the girl to respond, Misha ducks behind the translucent shelf. Harry offers the girl a shaky nod before he follows the model around the corner.

Once they’re out of sight, Harry lets out a heavy breath and lets himself sink to the floor. His limbs are still trembling, though not as much as they had been before when they’d been surrounded by the crowd. He buries his head in his knees and closes his eyes.

Breathe. There’s plenty of space in this tiny cubicle of a convenience store. There’s plenty of space. It’s not tiny at all.

“You alright?” Louis’s hand brushes over his ear. There’s a shuffle as someone kneels down beside him.

Harry lifts his head to look at the songwriter, mouth dry. “Yeah, I think so.”

“It’s not fair,” Louis says softly. His grey eyes darken with something Harry can’t place. “Usually you get time to get used to all of people and the crowds. It’s not fair to you.”

There’s a soft noise from Harry’s other side. Looking up, Harry finds Misha’s sad eyes regarding the two of them, one hand folded across her stomach, the other pressed to her mouth.

“I told you guys a no camera night. I’m so sorry. I should know better.”

Harry opens his mouth, but it’s Louis that moves first. The words die on his tongue as he watches Louis stand and beckon Misha to him. She looks so young as she walks into his embrace, hands curling up against the back of his shoulders.

“Shit happens,” Louis rumbles, almost too soft for Harry to catch.

Something in the back of his head can’t help but whisper that Louis wouldn’t be saying these things if it had been someone else. All the same, a smile spreads across his lips as he watches Louis pat her back soothingly.

It’s just so different from how Louis is with, say, Valarie. Even in the rigidness of the unfamiliar aisles, the songwriter seems more comfortable with Misha than Harry has ever seen him with Valarie.

“I should know better,” Misha mumbles. “I’ve literally been in this fiasco since I’ve been born.”

She pulls away from Louis. Her mouth is pulled in a deep frown, the corners of her lips wobbling. “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

Please don’t cry. Harry scrambles onto his feet to gather Misha into a similar embrace. “Don’t be. If I didn’t know what I was doing, I wouldn’t have done it.”

“Still.” Misha lifts her head to look up at him. “My aunt is going to be so pissed.”

It’s the last statement that makes Harry realize how young Misha is. The girl is only eighteen, yet she knows so much more than he does about the industry. And he can’t imagine how much weight is on her shoulders. He has to do pap walks, show his face for a couple of cameras, get his music leaked – over the span of a couple of months. To do this for years at this pace? That’s rough.

“I can let your aunt know it’s not your fault,” Louis offers.

Misha lets out a watery giggle, a glimmer of her usual self. “She won’t completely understand until she calls Derrick, so no matter what she’s going to be disappointed for a bit.”

“You’re a good kid, I don’t think you’ll get in too much trouble,” Harry jokes.

It earns him a larger smile. “I’m not a kid.”

“Pretty sure you’re the youngest one here,” Louis quips, knocking an elbow against into Harry’s side. “Kid.”

“The two of you are insufferable when you guys gang up on me.” Misha rolls her eyes, any trace of the frown gone. She reaches into her pocket to pull out her phone as her brows furrow. “My driver’s at the door.”

“We ready?” Harry asks.

It’s Louis that offers his hand to Harry first. “Fucking crowds, man.”

“Fucking crowds,” Misha acquiesces.

Even if he can’t completely catch his breath when the driver ushers them through the throng again, the press of their hands against his makes it a bit easier.

 ***

Thankfully getting back to Louis’s apartment is easy after getting past the mob.

“I’ll see you soon, alright?” Harry pulls Misha in for a hug. She still smells like warm citrus under the sun, even though it’s masked by the smell of the sea.

“I’m heading up to New York for a couple of weeks,” Misha says. Her eyes glint in the waning sunlight. She’s a picture to behold, highlighted by the impressive purple hues of the sky peeking over the apartment complexes.

If he didn’t know her better, he’d say that it’s why she does what she does. But he does know better. She has something a lot of other people don’t have, men or women. She has the charismatic brightness that’s so hard to find, famous or ordinary.

“Don’t worry,” her voice brings him back down from his thoughts. “You won’t miss me for too long.”

“Who says we’ll miss you?” Louis quips as he picks his way out of the car.

Misha pushes him slightly, not enough that he would fall, but enough to make him stumble into Harry. “Oh hush, you. You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Louis grins.

Harry misses what Misha says as the black Lexus pulls away. Admittedly, it has something to do with the way Louis doesn’t tense, not like the way he used to. But that’s not something he needs to worry about right now. The phone vibrating in his pocket is what needs his attention.

“Louis.” Harry nudges the songwriter as he pulls out his phone from his back pocket. “Derrick’s calling.”

The smile falls away from Louis’s face. Immediately he fumbles for his keys, a far cry from his usual steady self.

“Answer it.”

Harry doesn’t need any help doing that. His stomach is already half way down to the center of the earth. Logically, he knows it shouldn’t be like this. It can’t be that bad, can it?

“Derrick.”

There’s a rush of air on Derrick’s end as if he is making his way through a door. “You guys don’t feel like making my day easy today do you.”

Disappointment flushes through Harry’s chest. He pulls the phone away to put it on speaker as he follows Louis to the kitchen. “Sorry.”

Louis shoots him a look before he reaches out and squeezes his arm tightly. It’s more comforting than it should be. Before he can stop himself, Harry reaches out and catches his hand. It’s a sign that the songwriter doesn’t pull away.

“Don’t apologize,” Louis mutters.

“Louis is there with you?” Derrick pipes up. “Good.”

“Just get to it, Derrick.”

“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“The bad news.” Better to get upset first so he can manage his reaction later right?

Derrick lets out another breath. “It’s not as bad as it could have been, I suppose. There was miscommunication down the line between Stephanie and Joan. As the label, Magna has rights over your music, what you write and what you produce. Magna employs XEPA to make sure you get your PR out there. That said, it’s Magna that calls the shots.”

Mind whirring, Harry leans back against the sofa. There’s a soft pressure swiping back and forth on his wrist and he lets himself halt on the sensation for a minute. “So you’re saying that Kate’s not at fault here?”

Please. Please, please, let that be the case.

“She’s not at fault.”

Beside him, Louis tenses. “She still stole the music. If they leak that, it could put an end to the EP before it even began.”

Derrick is silent for a moment. “That could be the case if they decide to leak it. As of right now, Stephanie and Joan are holding off on it. That’s in part due to the impromptu fanservice the two of you engaged in. Harry, if you would, check your email.”

It takes Harry less than a minute to open the message Derrick has forwarded him. Why would Derrick, of all people, send a link to the gossip site? Sure, they’re good for spreading the narrative of whatever the team wants to promote, but they’re not entirely accurate of what reception he has.

“Just read it,” Derrick chuckles. The line crackles as a loud automation speaks from Derrick’s end. Is he at a travel station?

That isn’t what he needs to be focusing on right now. Harry shakes his head minutely as he flicks open the link.

There’s nothing different about this site from any other celebrity sites. Big headlines, big advertisements –

Oh.

“Read it aloud,” Louis presses.

Swallowing, Harry expands the window so he can see the headline a bit better.

 

_Louis Tomlinson back on stage with Harry Styles?_

_Songwriter Louis Tomlinson was spotted by fans at the Inner Harbor in Maryland earlier this evening with model and actress Misha Leweski as well as highly anticipated singer Harry Styles. The three were seen having the time of their lives dancing to some live music and enjoying the water._

_This little outing comes after Harry was spotted with model Kathryn Pemberly on the other side of the city. We can only guess how big the blowout was when Pemberly left his apartment earlier this afternoon a bit disheveled and with tears lingering on her cheeks. Already breaking hearts aren’t you, Mister?_

_But we digress. For all his lothario ways, Harry has a beautiful voice. What are we talking about? We got to hear Harry live. At the Inner Harbor. Seriously. Who doesn’t want to get up and dance when you to hear a classic tune on an acoustic guitar with a twist? (Of course, good company helps too)._

_Can you guess what the song is? We expected to hear a sneak peek from his upcoming EP or at least something from American Top 40, but no. Harry went ahead and paid tribute to Louis with “Torrent”. We would have preferred a front row seat to a good ol’ leak from his EP, Harry certainly didn’t disappoint._

_While Harry played ICON with his impromptu concert right next to Ripley’s Believe It Or Not!, the highlight of the show was the duet with Louis. It’s been so, so long since the Torrent known as Louis’s voice washed us away (see what we did there?), the combination of their voices were sinful!_

_An insider close to Louis said that the two have been collaborating heavily on Harry’s EP. We can expect to hear the two of them on at least one of the tracks._

_“The two of them have been hard at work and get along really well,” our insider told us. “They’re really buzzing about the prospect of it.”_

_If this is what they sound like together, preorder the EP for us right now!_

_What do you think? Listen to the audio below!_

 

What in the world did he just read?

Relief bubbles underneath his skin. This article has nothing to do with Kate, nothing new about the EP that couldn’t have been released by accident. More than half of the article is shit about him.

Everything is a bit more solid now, less transparent. He doesn’t know how, but it’s like he is more grounded than before. It’s a laughable idea that a celebrity gossip site is the one to do it. Kate would have a field day --

“Wait, so what does this have to do with anything,” Harry asks before he lets his mind get too much further.

“That brings me to the second point. Stephanie wasn’t the happiest human being in the world, as you might guess. She wanted Joan to leak the song and present it as your next single. Which, is something we’ve done before but that hadn’t turned out so well. It was a media circus.

“The next option was to have Harry do some more fan service and get him into the papers to promote the EP. Which you guys have done.”

Louis shifts his leg, pressing it against Harry’s knee. “So does this mean we’re good to go?”

“Sadly no,” Derrick sighs. “We think you have enough pull to get people interested in the EP. Joan wants the cover of ‘Torrent’ on the EP considering the attention HollyWLife has gotten for that video and piece on the coverage this afternoon. We’re going to stage a leak as well. They want Valarie or Kate to do another ‘sneak peek’ of the song, considering that’s have you got your ‘claim to fame’.”

Pressing his lips together, Harry looks down at his hands. That’s not too bad. It could have been worse – they could have decided to release the whole song out at once, or decided to cut it out had Kate taken the song on her own violation.

“That’s bullshit,” Louis mutters beside him.

Harry jerks, gaping at the other man. Louis has his brows tightly knit, mouth thinned into a line.

“I’m sorry, Louis--”

“This isn’t something they can play with just because they feel like it’s okay to do so,” Louis says lowly. “Leaking music? What if we hadn’t been done? What happens if that isn’t the final product? What would they have done then? It’s not fucking fair.”

“Louis.” Harry squeezes the hand in his. “It’s fine. I’m getting my – our music out there. We got a huge response to ‘Torrent’. I could be going nowhere, you know? This is somewhere.”

And it’s true. As much as the situation doesn’t feel right under his skin, the words settle beneath his skin comfortably. This is as good as a deal he is going to get – and it’s not going to be easy. But, hell. This is already so much easier than what so many other people have gone through. And that, Harry is grateful for.

Louis snorts, though his expression isn’t as pinched. “And I suppose you’re okay with Kate taking your music too?”

That pulls Harry up short. Plainly put, it sucks. It _fucking_ sucks. Shout it from the rooftops, the highest mountain, deepest ocean, or whatever cliché he can think of, it’s not going to change. It sucks to have someone so close turn around and take something when he would have given it willingly.

And he gets it. As bitter as the acid burns in his stomach to know it’s Kate who went behind his back, he gets it. Anyone in her position would do it. To get out of customer service, get out of serving people who can sometimes treat them like the dirt. Who wouldn’t want to climb into the Hollywood life?

“I am,” Harry says quietly. “I am.”

Louis reels back. His hand doesn’t leave Harry’s as his grey eyes flit around Harry’s general direction in disbelief. “You mean it. You actually mean it.”

“I do.” He should probably say more, but the words get stuck in his throat.

It takes another beat before Louis squeezes his hand and a tiny smile peeks out. “You’re too nice. Too nice.”

A cough from the phone lying on Harry’s thigh reminds him that they’re not alone.

“Now that we’ve got that sorted out,” Derrick says. “I’m on my way to New York right now to make sure we clear a couple things up with Stephanie and Joan. The fact that your place was released was a ‘casualty’ in the situation,” his voice drips in sarcasm. “And Joan sends her condolences. Do you have a place to stay in the meantime?”

Before Harry can open his mouth, Louis answers for him. “He’s going to stay with me. Already contacted Simon for legal issues.”

“Solid,” Derrick groans. “Thank you for dealing with that already. You guys are making my life ten times easier. Harry, I’d suggest looking for a new place to stay, probably somewhere that has a better guard against paparazzi.”

“It’s not my fault that they showed up to my house.”

“It’s not,” Derrick agrees. “I can send a couple of suggestions if you’d like. They’re going to be pricier than before, but if the EP comes in hot, then you should be fine.”

If the EP comes in hot. That’s a huge if.

His silence must say something since Derrick’s tone softens. “Look, Harry. I know this is all a bit rough. I take that back. Really rough. I know where you’re coming from, to get thrown into all of this and try to maintain a semblance of privacy at the same time. I promise, that I’m going to try to make things a bit easier for you. I’ve got to board now, so I’m going to get back to you as soon as I can, alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry takes a breath and lets it out slowly. “Thanks Derrick. Have a safe flight.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you soon.” The line goes dead.

Harry drops his head against the back of the sofa and groans softly in the back of his throat. He’d completely forgotten about the fact the paps are probably still annoying his neighbors. As much as he likes his neighbors, he has no doubt that one of them might have let slip that where he works. Say goodbye to his job too. Big whoop.

“I’m sorry you’re dragged into this mess.”

What? Harry swivels his body to face Louis’s, confusion flooding his limbs. “Why are you sorry?”

Louis isn’t the one who invited paps to his house, or leaked his music, or the media getting in his face. If anything, Harry is sorry for bringing Louis back into the media spotlight.

“You’re getting your name dragged through the mud, essentially.” Louis dips his head. “Girls are going to take that as an invitation.”

Harry shakes his head. The bubbling laughter is starting up again in his lungs. If they do, they’re going to be in for a big surprise. “They shouldn’t. I’m the last person to be a lothario.” He lets a chuckle escape. “I’m gay, Louis. They couldn’t be more wrong if they tried.”

Louis recoils at that, his hand flailing out of Harry’s.

And it’s like an electric current jolts through him. Honestly, there’s no way to react. He’d thought that with Derrick’s situation with his boyfriend –

“No, no, no,” Louis reaches out for him, hands grabbing out in the air for Harry. “It’s not like that.”

“What did you mean, then?” Harry can’t help the defeat from creeping into his voice. He shifts off of the couch, careful that he doesn’t move the coffee table.

Louis’s hands worm his way into his hair, pulling at the caramel locks so that they stick out in tufts. “I don’t want – I don’t want the same thing to happen again. Like – oh for fuck’s sake! I don’t want people to use it over you. This is an industry that needs scandal and big things to make a statement.”

“So you’re telling me to stay in a closet.” Absolutely not. That’s not who he is –

“No, god no.” Louis says and swallows hard. His hands flutter to his shirt and pull at the hem, wrecking the pressed cloth. “I’m saying I don’t want you to let them use it as a means to pull in money. If you want the public to know, let them know it through your means, your time. Not XEPA’s or Magna’s or whoever’s.

“It’s not worth watching them exhaust you before you’ve even started,” Louis breaks off, tongue swiping his lip and in a softer voice, “You’re too good for that.”

Harry sits down slowly beside Louis, eyes never leaving the songwriter’s shrunken frame. Did they do that to him? It’s so hard to imagine that the industry would be that underhanded – actually it’s not. But blackmail is harder to imagine with all the contracts and legality issues.

“Did they – you,” Harry asks stiffly.

Louis shakes his head. “No. I didn’t,” he laughs to himself. His shoulders shake and for a moment he looks so vulnerable it makes Harry shiver. “I lost myself in the music so hard there was nothing else. Didn’t know what was left or right, just in ecstasy. I wouldn’t have known even if they asked. But I know they’re not above using soft spots to get what they think is the best for the brand.”

That still doesn’t explain his violent reaction. When Harry brings it up, Louis bobs his head.

“I’ve got plates in my legs, I’m blind. They wanted to bank on the novelty of parading a survivor around. I was never the one they put at the front of the billboard, the loudest mic. I was always in the background and I was comfortable with that.” Louis falls silent before he stands up slowly. “I’m not homophobic if that answers the question.”

He leaves the room slowly, feet sliding across the wooden floor. Harry watches him go, dumbfounded and unsettled. There’s too much to wrap his head around. His reaction still weighs heavily in his mind ---

Louis shuffles back in the room, papers hanging limp in his hand. He slips them onto the table and waves a hand for Harry to read them.

Right as Harry looks at them, he knows it’s a song. Notes dot the bars strung on the page, words scrawled beneath it in tiny print.

Louis’s next words are so soft he nearly misses it. “Me too, Harry. I’m the same.”

That’s what makes him move, makes him pick up the scattered sheets and pull out one randomly. Of all the sheets he selects is the one with the bridge.

“You’ve lit a candle in the dark, you’ve found parts of me I kept hidden, locked in, afraid of the dark, and I’ve just realized, you’ve got me wide open.” Harry reads on, his chest burning as his lungs fail for seconds. His heart thrums in his ears, loud and uncontrollable. “Is this from the vault?”

The tiniest tick of a smile appears on Louis’s lips, a far cry from the full-blown smile at the harbor. “No. Wrote it over the past month.”

“Are you saying?” Harry hazards. “That you’re also…?”

“I’m scared of the dark and the dentist, yes.”

He doesn’t mean to launch himself at Louis, but he does. Wrapping his arms around Louis is something he didn’t know he needs, after all these little touches. Louis stumbles back a bit, but holds his own. The feeling of arms wrapping around him sends the butterflies and worries out of Harry’s head. Closing his eyes, Harry holds on tight.

“We’ll make it through the dark,” Harry murmurs into Louis’s hair.

A huff of hair brushes his collarbone as Louis laughs wetly. “Put this song as the last song on the EP. And I’m counting on you leading the way, songbird.”

 

“No. I won’t do it.”

“Valarie.”

Pages are strewn across the meeting table in various piles across the makeshift meeting room. For all that he thought writing the songs were difficult, promoting the EP has been rougher.

Harry scrubs a hand over his face before wincing. They’d put make-up of one thing or another on him – and he still can’t remember that he shouldn’t wipe his face like that. He’d gotten yelled at by the person who’d been responsible for working on his appearance at the other interviews for fussing around too much.

It’s been a month since the discussion with Derrick, and Magna had released a sneak peek of “I Should’ve” via Kate a couple weeks ago. The label decided against leaking it completely and had Kate release a snippet through her twitter account. Nevertheless, it had skyrocketed her followers and strengthened her team’s publicity. Something like that – Harry hasn’t bothered trying to keep up since.

Which brings him here, twenty minutes before he is set to go on stage to get interviewed, watching the standoff between Valarie and Stephanie. The dark-skinned singer has changed her hair again. The bubblegum pink contrasts her stormy expression and her folded arms as she glares down at the head of XEPA management.

“I’m not doing it, how hard is that to understand?” Valarie says stonily.

Stephanie narrows her eyes. “Do I need to remind you that this is for your image? You’re getting written up in the media as a woman who is helping a new singer out.”

There’s a soft scoff from the edge of the room where Louis stands, the barest curl of a smile on his mouth.

A wave of fondness washes over Harry as his gaze sweeps over the songwriter. Of course he would approve of Valarie standing up to XEPA. While he may not know exactly what’s gone down between the powerhouse management and Louis, it makes a bit of sense. The songwriter has one foot in and one foot out of the industry. The last thing that would surprise him is if Louis wants all the way out.

“We’ve already done that for my ‘she’s the one who everyone sleeps with to get into the industry’. How many times, just how many times have we already played that line?”

That jerks Harry’s attention away from Louis. It shouldn’t surprise him – he has read a bit of the tabloids recently. Not for concrete information, but as a way to pass time. As much as it pains him to admit it, they have an element of truth, for all the rumors they have.

Though it makes the insides of his stomach squirm, the tie between management and media is a bit genius. The papers and sites leave little hints for fans to get accustomed to a certain narrative or idea the management wants. They’re planting ideas at the grassroots level – the fans.

“Valarie, you know that it brings fans to watch your concerts,” Stephanie sighs.

Valarie bristles and grabs her purse off the vanity. “I’m not going on there today, find someone else to do it. I’m tired of that image.”

“You’ve been in this job for how long?” Stephanie asks calmly. “You know we can’t change plans in the middle of doing--”

“Bull-fucking-shit.” Valarie stalks forward, up close in Stephanie’s face.

Harry can’t help but shiver. He’ll give Stephanie credit for not flinching, especially when Valarie’s voice drops low.

“You did it for Louis and you’re going to do it for me. Owen hasn’t stunted in ages and I can’t get quality time off without someone speculating whether or not I’m screwing all the men in the world.”

“Owen is Teflon. You remember how we tried to make the three of you stand out.”

Just when Harry thinks Valarie’s voice can’t drop any lower, it does, laced in anger. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“You’re going to do something. We are the biggest thing you’ve got and if I decide to quit, XEPA is nothing. Don’t think I don’t know about the row you and Joan had over him.” Valarie points a long crimson nail at Harry. “You’re on your way out. Your best agent is thinking about transferring because he can get a better offer.”

Silence falls in the room, so stifling Harry can barely breathe. The only reaction Stephanie allows is the slightest flair of her nostrils.

“Are you finished?” Stephanie whispers, then raises her voice. “Are you done with this nonsense? Don’t forget that you signed a contract, Valarie--”

“Hold that all you want over me.” Valarie jerks her head up in the air and stomps her way to the door. “But I’m not going in there today or the next. Find some other girl to fit your agenda for him. I’m not going to be in the tabloids for screwing the nearest guy because I’m walking next to another human being. I’m going to be in there for my music. Make it happen, Stephanie, or I’m out.”

Without another word, she sweeps out spacious waiting room, her heels clicking loudly down the hallway.

“So, we cancelling the interview?” Harry can hear the smirk in Louis’s voice.

It’s impossible to prevent the sinking feeling that rises through him. Cancelling the interview might mean less promo for the new single if Stephanie and Joan are less inclined to reschedule it –

“No.” A new voice enters into the room. Joan.

Without a hair displaced, the suit steps into the room hands pressed at her sides. “We’re just going to have to send someone else up. We promised Mix 106.5 that they’re getting the latest scoop with an added celebrity. So you’re going up there.”

“As long as I don’t have to talk.”

Stephanie moves at last, primly opening a bottle of vitamin water set on the table. “No guarantees. And Harry?”

“Just because the star of the show walked out doesn’t mean that we’re still not going according to plan.”

“You’re kidding me.”

Both Harry and Stephanie turn to face the songwriter. Well, in Harry’s defense he hadn’t been expecting Louis to say anything. On the other hand, Stephanie raises a hand to stop Louis before he speaks.

“Don’t say a word, Louis. After all, this is something you never wanted to get into, am I correct?”

Harry can hear the clink of Louis’s jaw snapping shut and something swells in his stomach. It rushes in his veins, low and burning –

“I expect to see the two of you out there. Derrick will come and let you know when they’re ready for you,” Joan interrupts. “Stephanie?”

The two of them file out the room together, steps steady, strong, and unfazed. When they’re out of sight, Harry sags like his strings have been cut.

The good thing? The interview isn’t taken out. The bad thing? He doesn’t exactly know how this interview is going to go or how anything is going to go this time. The previous interviews had just been over the radio. This time it’s going to be live and recorded.

“Are you going to do it?”

Harry lifts his head to look at Louis. “I don’t have a choice, right?”

Louis scoffs, dropping his head against the side of the wall. “You have a choice. You could go against their wishes. This is live – you can make them look like the bullies.”

Even if they are forcing his hand, he isn’t experienced enough. XEPA is a multi-billion dollar machine. There is no doubt in his mind that if he steps out of line, XEPA and Magna can crush his entryway into the musical world in an instant.

“I’m not going to, I can’t--”

“Why would you just take this on the ground, Valarie’s out--”

“Louis.” Harry stands up, trying not to let the irritation get the best of him. “It’s fine. This isn’t a big deal.”

“It isn’t you,” Louis protests.

Harry stops short and gapes at Louis. Louis looks just as surprised as him, mouth open as if he can’t believe the words just slipped out of his mouth. His hands twitch by his side as if he wants to bring them up, but doesn’t want to show it.

“It isn’t you,” Louis repeats, softly now. “I don’t want to see them drain you, turn them into a puppet, into something that you’re not. I don’t want to see them drain you out.”

He speeds up as if he can’t get the words out fast enough. “They pushed and pulled us in all directions and we let them. I went into the idea that entertainment is easy, fun. And it’s all fun and games until you start making decisions. What’s best for the band. Stand in the back, let them portray you like the sex symbol of the group or the most caustic one.

“You tell yourself that it doesn’t hurt to hear what people say, that you have drinking problems, that you can’t sing, that you’re only fit to be in the background, that you’re holding the group back. But you hear it, it never fades away. And you don’t tell anyone else because you don’t want them to think you’re a burden. And sometimes that’s enough to let you tip over.”

He shudders and curls in on himself, wrapping his arms around his sides. That’s what spurs Harry to move his feet, to tug shaking man into his arms. His heart hurts as he hears Louis take short breaths against his collarbone. And he doesn’t know what to do, what to say. So he rubs circles in the small of his back, trying to quell the shuddering.

“You don’t have to tell me this,” Harry mumbles into his ear.

Except Louis shakes his head. “And when you tip over and try to back out, that’s when they want more. They pull out all the odds and ends that made my head spin because I was so fucking naïve. They wanted me to write if I wasn’t going to play, write what I want. And when I ran out of ideas, what they wanted, half-baked as they were. And when that wasn’t good enough, take the stuff I’d written for personal reasons and said it was under contract.

“And I didn’t want my parents to know I’ve fallen into an endless cycle of self-pity, so I stopped answering their phone calls, stopped visiting them after they moved to London. I got money, I got a nice apartment, but it means shit when I can barely get myself together.”

Harry holds on tighter, stops all movements. His gut clenches for Louis – everything seems so unfair to him. And it makes sense. It did get getter, right? Louis didn’t seem to be in a spiral downwards when they met. “You got out, though.”

“Derrick,” Louis says before he hiccup-laughs. “The man is relentless. His perseverance is so fucking annoying, but it works. He used to be the one who’d go out and scout for people I would be willing to write with, like the Crowned Kings. I don’t know what he did but he dug up some connections to get me to write with Larry Lawrence. And when I didn’t want to write, he introduced me to his Ray and his whole horde of family members. Guess that’s when I started to find all my pieces again – and a couple new ones too."

There are too many pieces of Louis that Harry still doesn’t know. But even before this, he knew Louis is strong. While it may not fallen into place before, this things just make it clearer, more _real_.

“I’m glad,” Harry licks his lips, trying to find the right words. “That he helped you find yourself again.”

“I don’t know about that,” Louis chuckles softly. “Far from it. I don’t even know what I look like anymore.”

Something sweeps over Harry that he can’t place. It’s a warmth that reaches from his heart to his tingling fingertips. Maybe it’s fondness or the need to please – whichever one. He lets it guide his tongue and his voice.

“You’re a bit shorter than me, probably five seven, five eight. Got these grey eyes that always make me want to know what you’re thinking. Hair that sticks up in tufts when you grab at it with your hands,” he pauses. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? “And when you really smile, you get these crinkles by your eyes,” Harry cuts himself off with a cough before he reaches and thumbs those said crinkles. He shouldn’t have said anything – he should’ve kept his mouth shut. “Sorry.”

And Louis has that smile right now, the barest of wrinkles starting at the corners. “What do you look like?”

“I’m taller than you,” Harry quips, letting Louis out of his arms.

Louis cants his head up at him and Harry just knows an idea has clicked in his mind. His eyes get that glint, the same one when he’d made his mind that they were going to write with Avery. Whatever he has in mind, Harry is sure he’d let him do it.

“Do you mind?” Louis murmurs, raising both hands close to Harry’s face.

There’s no hesitation. “No.”

Hands press against his cheeks gently, fingers lingering against his cheekbones. They meander their way to his brow, his hairline, the barest whisper against his skin. They’re callused from the strings of the guitar, the roughened pads surprisingly smooth against the bridge of his nose.

Harry keeps his eyes on Louis throughout. He watches as those dark eyelashes flutter against those pale cheeks in concentration. As Louis’s fingers brush against the corner of his mouth, Harry smiles and feels as the fingers move with his lips.

Maybe it’s the way Louis opens his eyes in response or the way he doesn’t move the tip of his finger from the corner of his mouth or the way those crinkles widen. Oh, it’s a number of things that makes the boldness swell in Harry’s chest. And he can’t bring himself to care.

He lets the tip of his tongue brush the awaiting finger, catching the unsuspecting digit between his lips. The way Louis’s eyes darken and lips part ever so slightly efface thoughts from his mind –

A soft sound wrenches Harry back into reality. Louis’s hands fall away from his face and they both take a step back. Embarrassment flushes up his skin. What if it was Valarie or worse, Stephanie?

“They’re ready for you,” Derrick coughs from the doorway.

Even though he knows Derrick is no stranger to Louis, much less other things, Harry can’t help the apprehension from surging through him. Except, there’s no judgment in Derrick’s hazel eyes.

If anything, it’s amusement. But it’s quickly masked by his words. “I’ll be up there in the event they ask any questions that are out of line. Certain topics have been blacklisted just like the previous interviews. You guys ready?”

Though he knows this is his decision, Harry can’t help but turn to face Louis. The smile has long since fallen off Louis’s lips, the picture perfect media mask back in place. Who knows what makes Harry so sure, hell if he knows. But he’s sure of three things.

While it’s undefined, he knows there’s something between them.

He has to follow the line Stephanie and Joan expect him to.

No one ever said that he can’t pivot his way out of the interview.

The glint in Derrick’s eye looks like he knows exactly what Harry is up to. But Harry can’t bring himself to care right now. So he laces his fingers tight with Louis’s and squeezes.

“Ready.”

 ***

Without seeing Stephanie and Joan’s expressions, he already knows they’ve got stony faces in place. He can’t blame them. The entire interview had been toeing the line of the narrative they wanted him to spin: that he is seeing Valarie.

Despite it, pride simmers low in his chest. The interviewer seemed utterly delighted with his answers, excited at the prospect of scandal. It’s her job – and what better than to say that she is the one who got the first scoop on the trouble in paradise between him and Valarie?

“I thought we agreed on your image,” Stephanie says. She folds her arms and arches a perfect eyebrow at him. Her eyes are as icy as ever, the blue shine stark against the contrast of her painted crimson lips.

“He stayed within the confines of the agreement,” Louis pipes up. Harry knows that there’s a smirk on those thin lips, he just does. The satisfaction literally rolls off of him in waves.

The suit doesn’t so much as twitch in response, though her words tell a different story. “Quiet, Louis. You weren’t much help either.”

“You’re the one that put me up there.”

“Your job,” Joan interrupts. “Is to get his name up there. If he gets noticed so will your work. And I don’t think you need to be reminded that “I Should’ve” is your biggest hit in two years. You haven’t had a piece you recently wrote that could possibly hit the top of the charts in years.”

The songwriter falls back then, his knuckles brushing the back of Harry’s hand. And Harry would take his hand without a heartbeat, but would Louis? His words still resonate within his head and it certainly doesn’t help that Stephanie follows Louis’s every moment.

“And I’ve no problem with that,” Louis utters, too low for anyone but Harry to hear.

“You.” Joan fixes her eyes on Harry. It’s hard not to shudder under her gaze and he barely suppresses the tremor that shakes through him. “Do you remember the agreement that we signed upon?”

Harry swallows and wills himself not to back down. At the end of the day they’re both people trying to reach their goals. While he may not know much about how Joan runs her label, he does know what he wants. And that’s for his music to get somewhere. It should be about the music, not about who he is sleeping with, not how many girls he has paraded with. That should all be second to the EP and the single.

But he holds his tongue. “I do.”

“Then I’m sure you remember that one of the grounds of the contract is that you do as we suggest in order to promote you to your target audience,” Stephanie sighs, shaking her head. “Look, Harry. No one wants a plain singer, goodie two shoes. Parents want that for their kids, tweens, young adolescents. Is that your target audience? Do you want to be paraded at the Kids Choice Awards for years on end without nominations to the VMAs or Grammys?”

Harry digs his teeth into his bottom lip and breaks eye contact. The VMAs, Grammys, AMAs, and Billboard are all so far away. But she has a point. These are awards that identify the best of the best. Then again, he could also never make it. His thoughts must show on his face, since Stephanie’s tone gentles.

“Harry, we’re trying to help you out here. We’re your team. Joan and I have been in this for years – we have experience. And right now, you’re not playing the part you need to be. What you did out there was destroying the image we’ve crafted for you and Valarie.”

“Valarie isn’t cooperating,” Louis says. His knuckles brush Harry’s again, sending sparks up and down his arm. Yet Harry can’t turn to face him.

It feels like he is getting pulled into two. Louis wants him to do one thing, whereas his team wants him to do another. Stephanie and Joan have been around for longer than Louis has – it could be his own experiences clouding his mind. Actually, there’s no doubt in that fact.

“That’s for us to decide,” Joan counters. “If you want to walk away from this, you can. No one is stopping you.”

Everything halts. The temperature in the room feels like it’s dropped by ten degrees. Beside him, Louis has gone stock still. His shallow breaths puff right beside Harry’s ear, the slightest tickle the only indication Louis is still here.

“You’ve completed your contract – you’re free. Isn’t this what you wanted? You’ve finished your part of the deal and we’ll finish ours. You know how the deal goes, don’t you.”

“I do.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Joan’s lips curl upwards. It’s too predatory for Harry’s liking. Pale as she is, there is a bit of color in her cheeks like she knows she has her prey in her grasp. “Unless you’ve got something holding you back.”

Louis’s silence is all too telling. Surprise strikes through Harry as he turns to gape at the songwriter. There should be nothing stopping him – not after all the things Louis has told him. Every sign points to the door, yet Louis doesn’t move. He keeps his hands to himself, hands balled in his fists like he is trying to prevent himself from reaching out for Harry.

“There’s nothing,” Louis says.

Even Harry can hear the waver in his words. There’s something he isn’t telling, that much he is sure. A part of him wants to take Louis by the shoulders and shake him until the rest of his secrets fall out of him. Tell him to let everything go and walk away from the place he seems to regard as a hellhole. Another part of him wants to wrap him in a hug and tell him everything is going to turn out alright. That maybe he’d be able to win this time, because he is so, so close to the finish line. But only if he steps over it.

Right now, there’s something holding him back and Harry’s heart hurts just watching him.

“Could it be Harry?” Stephanie pipes up. Harry doesn’t miss the way her eyes drag over their hands or the way her lips part in anticipation.

Her words hit him next. What?

“No.” Louis says a beat too quickly. “No.”

Joan takes a step forward, taking one of Louis’s hands in hers. But he pulls out of her grasp and stumbles back into Harry. Harry has to tell himself that it doesn’t hurt when Louis bounces off of him just as quickly to take a few steps back. He can barely hear what’s going on over his own pulse.

“We can extend your contract to what we’re planning on matching his,” she coaxes. “The two of you are a writing machine. The fans are already loving his music. You’ve got your fans from If It Storms tuning in to listen to what Harry has to say. You wouldn’t want to disappoint them would you?”

Louis’s jaw pulses as his clenches his jaw over and over again. “I--.” He stops himself, expression furious.

“You’re an incredibly sensible person. Don’t you think you owe them as much? They never get to see you.” Stephanie matches Joan’s step, though she doesn’t try to take Louis’s hands. It doesn’t matter; the songwriter takes another step back. This time, his feet catch against the back of the table and he wobbles dangerously.

Harry reaches out to steady him, stomach in his throat. They’re manipulating him, that much he can tell. But selfishly he wants to hear what they have to say, even though he knows it’s going to go against everything Louis wants.

“You’d be able to write and stay with Harry the entire time--”

Something shutters in Louis’s face and he reaches for Harry’s hand. “Harry. Can you lead me out?”

The only reason Harry doesn’t move is because Joan’s eyes cut over to him. While they aren’t as icy as Stephanie’s, they dare him to move. This is his music career – but this is also Louis. He owes him that much to lead him out of this, right?

“As soon as you walk out, Louis,” Joan warns. “We’re not offering you another contract. And I highly doubt someone else will. No one wants to hire a washed up songwriter that only shines when he writes with other big names.”

Louis’s face crumples before his blank wall comes smashing back up. The grip on Harry’s arm turns impossibly tight as he tenses. “Harry.”

Their eyes feel like they’re burning into the back of his skull as he leads Louis out. Dread stews in the pit of his stomach. This is a big mistake – possibly the biggest mistake Louis could be making.

Harry bites his lip and slows down his steps after they exit the room. Louis’s hand has fallen slack in his, nearly falling out of his grip. He knows it’s not his place to say anything, but at the same time he can’t let it go.

“I think you should go back.” He halts but doesn’t turn around.

Louis’s foot bumps into his before he immediately steps back. “No.” There’s no room for argument in his tone, though Harry can feel the exhaustion dripping off of him.

“Hear me out. You’d be giving up what you’ve done recently, pulling yourself out of the trenches,” Harry pleads.

He turns around to face Louis and takes in those striking cheekbones, faded grey eyes, the downturned mouth. It’s a striking contrast to his beatific close-lipped grins and crescent eyes. That’s not what he wants – Louis deserves to be happy. God, Harry _wants_ him to be happy.

“So you’re saying I’m worthless without them.”

No, no, no. “You’re not,” Harry rambles. “You’re not. I – I just want. You’re electrifying on stage. You can ask anyone who’s seen the videos that music is everything to you. They gave you an out, but it’s an ultimatum. I don’t want to see you blacklisted.”

Louis pins him with a dead-eyed stare. “If they blacklist me, so be it.”

“But,” Harry protests.

“Listen,” Louis insists. “Thank you, Harry, really. I’ve got a house, I’ve got more money that I could ever use. But I’d be able to write for _myself_. Not for someone else. I’d be able to do things on my own time without someone breathing down my neck. I’d be _free_ of whatever this hell that I created myself. They can blacklist me all they want, but I’d be better than I’ve been in years.”

The words on his tongue die quickly as shame fills Harry. He shouldn’t have spoken. It’s selfish to think he would be able to convince Louis to do otherwise. And it hadn’t been for Louis that he tried to tell him to change his mind. It had been for him, to try to make him stay with him. But it’s unrealistic – he understands that now.

“I’m sorry,” Harry croaks. He drops his head and closes his eyes. It’d been stupid, stupid-

Fingers brush his jaw, his chin, until hands cup his cheeks. They’re still cold, but he can hardly feel it as all the thoughts flee from his mind. Louis is so, so close, his eyes flitting to and fro like they’re trying to capture just a glimpse.

“It’s not your fault,” Louis whispers. He gently tugs Harry down to meet his forehead. “It never was. I’m not your responsibility.”

“I shouldn’t have.” Harry shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Stop bringing yourself down. You never made me promises you couldn’t keep.”

That pulls a laugh from Harry. Did Louis honestly just quote their single back at him?

Louis smiles softly before he presses a kiss onto Harry’s forehead. “Take me away from here, songbird.”

The song is about regrets and burned bridges. Regrets and burned bridges. Burned bridges. He can barely remember the conversation they had that day, but that’s enough. He knows where to go.

 

They step off the bus with nothing with them, just the clothes on their backs and items in their pockets. He may have nicked Louis’s passport from his bag before they left the building, but Louis doesn’t need to know.

Harry knows he’ll be back here in a couple of days, but he wants to do this. No. He needs to do this. Whether or not Louis will appreciate it is a different story. It isn’t his place to pry anymore than he already has, but he knows enough about this piece to see this is Louis’s next step forward.

People mill around them briskly, barely sparing them a second glance. Suitcases rattle along the smooth linoleum floor, the rhythm to the bustle of BWI airport.

Harry doesn’t bother waiting for everything to hit Louis, just leads him to the nearest open kiosk.

“When’s your next flight to London?” When Louis twitches in surprise, he doesn’t bother hiding the smile from the girl behind the counter.

“Give me just one moment,” she says as she types away on her computer. “Oh, you’re lucky. Our next flight leaves in an hour and we’ve got a couple seats left. Would you like to buy two tickets?”

“Just one.”

“Harry,” Louis murmurs behind him.

In response, Harry squeezes his hand wrist lightly. “Fled in the dark without goodbyes, knew I shouldn’t have left you on your knees,” he whispers.

Realization washes on Louis’s face immediately. His mouth parts as he licks his lips. “Why’re you doing this?”

Why? That makes Harry fall short even as he hands his credit card over. It’ll take a chunk of money from his account, yet he can’t bring himself to care. But why? This is the least he can do for someone who’s broken into so many pieces and still gives so much. While it’d been rough in the beginning, Louis had – _has_ come through. Louis could have given up when Harry walked out that night at the studio, but he didn’t. It’s all of these little things that make it so big.

The words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them. “You said that I’d be a stepping stone for you to be better. So here’s the stone.”

He won’t remember how the TSA agents let them both through the line or the girl who gives them the ticket or the man who leads them to a private waiting room to avoid the crowds.

But he’ll remember now, the way Louis puts his arms around his neck and hugs him close. The way his breath ghosts against his lips, the impatient press of slightly chapped lips against his. The way Louis fits against him feels like it’s burning into his skin, the smell of muted Old Spice embedded into his brain.

Yet when he runs his tongue over his lips for the memory, it tastes like goodbye.

 ***

_Louis Tomlinson leaves If It Storms_

_Looks like the fans are going to be weathering a new storm. Louis Tomlinson, a third of the incredibly successful band, If It Storms, has left turned the trio into a duo._

_If It Storms released news early Saturday morning about his decision on their social media platforms three years after Louis stopped performing on stage with the remaining two in the band._

_“We regret to inform you that Louis Tomlinson has decided to leave the If It Storms team. Valarie and Owen still plan on continuing on this incredible journey that their fans have given them.”_

_This comes as a surprise to few, as speculation has run rampant over Tomlinson’s involvement in the band after an accident rendered him incapable of taking the stage. Allegedly, the tragic accident left Tomlinson unable to walk for a few months and left him legally blind. People have also speculated whether or not Tomlinson has faced drug and alcohol addiction afterwards, though neither he nor If It Storms representatives ever confirmed the rumor._

_Fans of If It Storms have taken to twitter and trended, “ThankYouLouis” after the news hit the web. While they were disheartened by the news, fans were optimistic that Tomlinson will return to the entertainment scene._

_“Thank you for everything you’ve done for us, Louis,” Annie, a fan, wrote on Tumblr. “For whatever reason you left, we’re sure you’ve done it for yourself.”_

_In an interview with MuchMusic Z100, Owen Helms revealed on Nov 8th that there was no rift in the band. “We wish him the best, you know? You got to love what you do and for him, it was time for him to move on.”_

_He went on to say that this wouldn’t be the last time they see of Louis. A premonition perhaps? This comes after news that longtime manager for If It Storms, Derrick Syed, left XEPA Management. Reps for XEPA Management have denied that Syed’s and Tomlinson’s departures were linked._

_Tomlinson wasn’t available to be reached for contact._

Blowing out a breath, Harry puts down his phone and presses his face against the tinted window of the car. His breath fogs up the glass a bit, so he pulls back to look down at his phone.

He hasn’t heard back since seeing him off to the airport. It shouldn’t affect him as much as it does; after all, Louis has no obligation to contact him. That said, it’s so hard to keep the bittersweet taste of the memory from flooding back into his mind.

Or the soft press of lips against his.

Or the way Louis had threaded his hands in the behind his neck into his hair like they were searching for something he couldn’t reach.

Ugh. Harry drops his head against the window again. The driver gives him a concerned look from the rearview mirror, but he can’t bring himself to care. He has a problem, as much as he hates to admit it. It’s worse than when Louis wouldn’t work with him.

The driver clears his throat softly. “Sir? We’ve arrived?”

Peeling his forehead off the glass, Harry offers him a tight nod. It’s probably not a good idea to tell him that he isn’t exactly sure what he’s doing here. Mustering up a smile – hopefully it’s not a wince – he pops open the door and steps out.

He is assaulted by two things. One, arms that wrap him tight. Two, the smell of warmed sand and orange zest. It can only mean one person.

“As much as I like sneak attack hugs,” Harry says jokingly. “It’d be nice if you could warn me.”

Misha pulls away from him and pats him on the cheek, hard. “Hush, hush, smile for the paparazzi.”

“This a pap walk?” Harry has to remind himself not to turn and look. Stunts are supposed to be candid. “They’re making me stunt with a child?”

“Oh, shut up.” Misha smacks his arm this time. “And I’m supposed to be the baby.”

“You practically are. You’re what, nine?”

With how hard Misha rolls her eyes, it’s surprising they don’t fall out of their sockets. The girl can probably go in the book of world records for eye-rolling. Well, if there is such a thing. “Now you’re milking it.”

“Okay, I’ll leave you provolone.”

“Harry, I have something to tell you. You gotta brie kidding yourself if you can win this, so you might want to stop before I leave you in the dust.”

Harry can’t stop the snort at that. “You got me there.”

Misha answers him with her signature grin. He has done his research – the girl is never photographed with a pout in any of her magazines. That smile is in every one of her shoots, without fail. “Sorry, cheese is one of my favorite things.”

“Okay, okay,” Harry laughs and puts both his hands up. “You win. I surrender the title of pun wars to you.”

“I was going to say, if I didn’t win, it’d,” she opens her mouth and winks at him, “grate on my nerves.”

His answering groan is echoed by peals of her bubbly giggles. There’s just something about her that makes him smile. Everything about her is just so bright, including the neon orange orioles sweatshirt that nearly swallows her. The one time her smile disappeared, it was like all the light was sucked out of the room.

“Puns aside, what are we doing here? Do I have an agenda?” Harry makes a face at the word.

Misha’s smile dims as she jerks her head to the side. “Well, we’re supposed to be frolicking about New York, spending time together like a loved up couple.”

Harry can feel his eyebrows shoot up to his forehead. So instead of stunting with Valarie, they’re portraying him as a cradle robber? “You’re kidding me.”

“We are literally the most boring people ever. Like, my publicist called me up and honest to god told me that I needed to get my ass off my bed and do something productive with my life.”

Somehow he doubts that. “Yeah.”

“Dude, if this was up to me, I’d be on the couch playing video games with my brother. Or be on my way to the Mets vs. Orioles game,” she huffs and pushes her bangs out of her face. “But I can’t have everything. Not saying you’re not fun, cause you are.”

“You’re a big boost to my confidence, you know that right?” Harry tells her dryly.

“You’re welcome,” Misha beams before jerking her thumb at the sleek black car one block down. “Should I kiss your cheek to do my job or would I be encroaching on Louis’s territory?”

Her words stop him cold and all he can do is gape at her. What in the world? Did someone catch them at the airport? He has no problem with being out to the public but Louis? What would ---

Misha rubs his back soothingly. “Breathe.”

Coughing, Harry sucks in a breath of air he hadn’t known he needed. “I – what?”

She cants her head at him. “Are you two not together?”

“No.”

Biting her lip, Misha takes a step back. “God, I’m so sorry. I thought – with the way the two of you were so familiar with each other at the harbor – I put my foot in my mouth didn’t I?”

Brushing a hand over his face, Harry can’t help but think of the phone burning in his pocket. There’s no reason Louis would call him from London, not when he wants to lay low. He shouldn’t be mooning over something that _won’t_ happen; yet the words tumble out on his tongue before he can stop them.

“We’re not together. I - not sure what we are. I saw him off to London about a month ago after he’d walked out on XEPA and Magna and we’d just,” he pauses, hit with the memory again. God dammit. So much for trying to stop thinking about it all the damn time.

“You had sex. At an airport,” Misha deadpans, her eyebrows arched in disbelief. “You walking cliché.”

Embarrassment cycles through him. He can feel the heat rising through him, blood rushing to his cheeks. “God, no.” Then because he can’t possibly make anything worse, “I don’t put out on a first date.”

“Great to know,” Misha drawls. The smirk falls off her lips as she regards him more seriously. “So let me get this straight. The two of you want to be together, but there’s a literal ocean between you two and neither of you have bothered to contact each other.”

When she puts it like that, it seems so trivial. And straight out of a novel. Narrowing his eyes, Harry squints at her. “How do you even know about Louis?” If he remembers correctly, Louis said he didn’t even find himself until three years ago.

Misha scratches the bridge of her nose. “Let’s just say I had my suspicions. The way the two of you act around each other is not your typical friend thing. You guys kind of act like Derrick and Ray do, except with a lot less PDA. I swear, I’ve seen a photo of the two of you guys fonding over each other.”

His brain is stuck on “fonding”. As far as photos go, the only photo he knows that they’ve taken together is at the ice rink on her Instagram account. “We don’t fond over each other.”

“Trust me, the two of you do. If you could see yourself in the interview you did last month, you would agree with me. You have no idea how much my inner fangirl is crowing right now. My fifteen year old self would be so proud of me.”

“Your fifteen year old self would be so proud of you,” Harry repeats. What does this have to do with anything? Wait. “Does this have to do with your obsession with If It Storms?”

Misha draws herself up as tall as she can and puffs her chest, which only makes her come up to his nose. Admittedly, it makes Harry think of one of those fluffy baby penguins instead of danger, but okay.

“Listen here, Harry. Fans are so much more perceptive than you think they are. Even without astroturfing from headquarters. They’ve literally found you your ship name.”

What? “My ship name?”

“Cheese.”

Harry just shakes his head. He isn’t going to bother touching this with a ten foot pole. But in the back of his mind, it’s a bit heartwarming – not that he is about to admit that to her. “So what are we going to do?”

Misha casts a look around them. They’re surrounded by buildings, the glass towers arching high above them. It reminds him a bit of being surrounded by mirrors except everything is magnified and they’ve been shrunk.

She holds up two fingers in front of him. “We’ve got two options. We do what we’re supposed to do: get papped holding hands and doing couple-y stuff that, let’s be honest, we’re not going to like. Or two, we can go have some fun in New York.”

Does she even need to ask? But the smile freezes on his face. “Wouldn’t your publicist get mad? You signed a contract for this to work, right?”

Misha shrugs and grabs his hand limply. “We’d be fulfilling everything they want us to do today. I’ve got a couple things in mind, you know. Go to some stands, buy some stuff, put it on Instagram, Snapchat. We’re literally holding hands right now, so that’s another check off the list. Apparently that means we’re dating.”

How many things do they actually have to do? “This has got to be the most elaborate pap walk I’ve ever done.”

Misha laughs delightedly and waves their badly intertwined fingers in front of his face. “It’s elaborate alright, because they want to sell the image of girl who is having sex with someone four years her senior. And that someone happens to be a gay man who, I assume, doesn’t want to do it either! But hey, who says we can’t have fun with it?”

 

She drags him around the little segment of New York, laughing all the way. In the back of his mind, Harry can’t help but feel a bit bad for the paparazzi assigned to tail them for the day, especially since his management set it up. They’re not making it easy, not with the way they keep ducking into little shops to look at trinkets.

They’ve been pretty lucky to be able to blend into a pretty packed mall in New York without having to stop for too many pictures. Of course there have been a couple of more… more enthusiastic fans. For the most part, they’ve moved quickly enough so they don’t get mobbed.

At the same time, he also can’t bring himself to care too much. Misha’s pure unadulterated energy is exhilarating, with the way she smiles at every little thing even if it’s not remotely funny. Simply put, this girl is a treasure.

As of right now, she’d ditched him by the benches before the bathrooms in favor of scouting something ahead. Not that he minds – it lets him catch his breath and think a bit. He absentmindedly runs his fingers over the Ray Bans he just bought. If he bought them because they remind him of Louis, no one has to know. Never mind the fact that he has yet to return the pair the songwriter has loaned him.

“Found it,” Misha crows, waving her hand at him to come over.

The goof has bought a couple of things he can’t even understand. He distinctly remembers her buying an expensive ship figurine and a little keychain with an “I” written in bold lettering. And now she stands before a tiny cheese shop sandwiched in between the wall and the entrance of Nordstrom.

“Did you just have a sudden craving for cheese?” Harry teases, but obediently makes his way over.

“You could say,” Misha winks at him before picking up a random wedge. She peers at the label. “That I’ve had a sudden craving for some Swiss cheese.”

“Should’ve gone for some cheddar.”

“Nah, this suits my purposes, just this please.” Misha turns to the cashier. Harry offers the girl behind the counter a small smile. Who knows what they look like to her – hopefully some random friends who couldn’t care less about cheese.

The girl snaps her gum lackadaisically. “Do you need a bag?”

“Nope, I’m good,” Misha says. “Actually could you do me a favor?”

The girl blinks like she hadn’t expected Misha to ask her a question. Harry can relate all too well. Back at Borders, it felt like he was always the one asking questions, so it’s always a bit of a change in pace. “I guess?”

Misha passes the cashier her phone. “Could you just take a picture for me?”

She then turns to Harry, pulling out the two trinkets out of the bag she’d acquired earlier after walking across town. Wrapping the keychain around her finger, she passes him the wedge of Swiss. “Hold that in your left hand, would you?”

Dumbfounded, Harry does as she asks. Misha then carefully pulls out the ship figurine before walking to his right side and passes that to his right hand. “We’re ready.”

“Say cheese.”

Chuckles burst forth as he realizes the pun. Misha leans over and pecks him on the cheek just as the camera goes off the second time. Then she pulls back and retrieves her phone from the girl before whisking them out of the little shop.

“There. Just gotta post that on Instagram and our little pap walk is done.” Misha takes the ship from his hands and packages it back into the bag. “A present for you.”

“So we went around town just to get props for a photo.”

Misha stops fiddling with her phone, eyes wide. “Just a photo, just a photo?”

What did he say wrong? The model stalks over to him and gestures at her phone. “Tell me that is just a photo.”

There’s nothing too special about the photo she has chosen besides the fact that she presses a kiss to his cheek. But when he looks down at their hands, he gets it. The little “I” dangles from her fingers, while their hands hold the elaborate wooden ship, and he holds his block of Swiss cheese.

This girl is a genius.

“You planned this from the beginning,” Harry utters in awe.

Misha shrugs and tucks her bangs behind her ear. “I plead the fifth.”

 

For lack of better words, he expects Stephanie to reprimand him that night, but that never comes. Instead, he gets an email from an unknown address that night in the hotel. It’s from a photography company named “JM Key” with the subject line of “Your Photos”.

He has nothing better to do tonight, so he opens it to find a short paragraph he doesn’t bother reading with a little attachment blinking up at him. It’s a bad idea. Maybe it’s from the paparazzi company?

Oh well.

When he opens the folder, he doesn’t see photos of him and Misha dashing through the crowded New York streets. No.

He finds himself starting at then photos of him and Louis on ice from that fundraiser they’d gone to when they’d still been writing the album. There had been a photographer lying belly down on the ice that day.

Clicking back to the email, he skims the body.

_Harry,_

_I’ve been informed that you would like to have these photos. I haven’t taken the liberty to edit them, but if you wanted me to blow up the photo or have it framed, just let me know._

_Jason Makkie_

_JM Key Photography_

The photos are so, so clear. There’s no glare dancing off the pale sheet of ice they’re skating on. Harry pauses on the last photo and he can’t pull his eyes away. He is flat on his back, legs askew like he’d just fallen with Louis bent over him. There’s nothing remarkable about it.

What stands out is the smile Louis has on his face, the way his eyes glitter even in the photo. And the way he looks up at the songwriter, smile so broad Harry can barely recognize himself. To think that was when they were just getting to know each other.

Harry leans closer to the screen to study the songwriter’s face. Louis doesn’t look like that anymore. In the photo, his cheeks are hollow despite his laughing eyes and wide grin with the bags under his eyes stark on his pale complexion. Regardless, Louis is breathtakingly ethereal in the picture.

But now that he knows what it’s like to see him genuinely happy and his grey eyes _alive_ , it puts these snapshots to shame. He knows what it’s like to hear that hiccoughing laugh. He knows what it’s like to see Louis stand strong without looking like a gust could blow him away --

God he is so screwed.

 ***

XEPA and Magna don’t say anything about the photo, but they do blacklist any mention of cheese from the rest of his interviews. Not that that’s stopped Misha from sending him countless t-shirts with different cheese wedges on them. In all honesty, the best interview he got to do was with a 99.7 radio host out in Houston who provided a cheese platter for the recorded segment.

The thing is, they don’t stop him from wearing the t-shirts either. Sure, the stylist rolls her eyes at the t-shirt he walks in wearing, but she doesn’t make him change. Looks like as long as it generates interest for him, they won’t do anything.

Peter thinks it’s a riot and a good distraction from, well. Kate. Neither of them have heard from her since she walked out of his apartment. Not that Harry has actively tried – if she wants to talk to him, he will. It’s a bit petty, but it hurts a bit to think that he isn’t worth enough for an apology. On the other hand, he knows Peter has messaged her and never got a reply as well.

He shivers a bit and looks up balefully at the cloudy New York sky. December is a terrible month to suffer through in this miserable city, for all of its lights and famous stores. Don’t get him wrong, the city is beautiful, it’s just like they say. But it’s lonely in the apartment he has rented for the meantime. Everyone is a bit far away; Peter is still back in Baltimore, Misha’s off in Europe for her role in the cinematic adaption of some popular dystopian novel he can’t remember off the top of his head.

And Louis is on another continent. Harry sighs and watches as his breath mists out in front of him. He should have gone in with Owen to get coffee instead of waiting out here for him to come back. When the singer had asked if he wanted to go in, he said that he wanted a detox from the café smell that he had just gotten away from.

But now, his hands are freezing despite the gloves his has on and it feels like his nose is dying a slow death. It’s also preventing him from obsessively checking Louis’s twitter account. He hadn’t even been aware Louis had one until Misha texted him in the middle of September with three exclamation marks and a link.

It’d been lyrics from the “Open”, the last song on his EP. “You’ve got my wall shattered and no sticks and stones mattered at all.”

It’s a bit dramatic, but it could mean something. Whether or not it actually does, he has no idea. Harry isn’t proud of the way he is hanging on every word of a Twitter account. At least he knows it’s Louis running the account, not the management now that he is no longer contracted.

It also helps that he isn’t the only one watching the tweet. Fans around the world have been lighting up his Twitter account every time Louis posts new lyrics ever since the EP is released. For the most part, they’re pretty polite and supportive of his music, which is another incentive to wear the cheese shirts.

They seem to like that too, even if he can’t address them as publically as he likes. According to Misha, who says she doesn’t run an If It Storms Tumblr account (which is a lie), the Cheese ship is getting more and more attention within the fanbase.

“You ready to go?” Owen startles him out of his thoughts.

Blowing on his hands, Harry tries to regain the feeling in his fingers. “Yeah.”

They fall in step together, weaving around others trying to escape the chilly city air. Owen sips at his pumpkin spice latte before he smiles encouragingly at Harry. “You ready to re-sign today?”

If he is completely honest with himself? Absolutely not. “I guess.”

“That’s a lot of confidence right there,” Owen laughs softly. “‘Open’ is doing super well for an Extended Play, right? There’s no way Joan won’t re-sign you. You pretty much exceeded everyone’s expectations.”

“I had a lot of help.” Stupid, stupid mind keeps turning back to Louis.

Owen pats him on the back as they stop at a crosswalk. “You did good for someone who just got plucked off the stage and thrown into the middle of things. Maybe a little too well.” He laughs to himself and takes another sip.

A little too well? Harry runs those words over and over again in his head. “What do you mean?”

Owen regards him for a moment before his lips thin. He rubs at his pink nose before adjusting the beanie on his head. “We can cross.”

Okay, there’s no way Owen isn’t hiding something. Those are all things Derrick told him to watch out for when trying to deflect. “Owen.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Owen mutters under his breath.

Harry stops in his tracks and grabs Owen’s arm to pull them out the middle of the sidewalk. “What do you mean that I did too well?”

The redheaded singer tugs off his beanie and sighs. “You didn’t hear this from me, alright?”

“Lips are sealed.”

“Okay.” Owen still doesn’t meet his eyes. “You were Louis’s last chance, pretty sure you knew that. He wasn’t finishing his pieces and the ones that he did weren’t going to be hits. They lacked the flare that he had before.”

Together, they make there way back onto the center of the sidewalk. Owen pauses to peer at the contents in his cup. “This shouldn’t affect whether or not you sign again, you know? Your music is good, it sells, and you have an audience waiting for you. You’re going to re-sign, right?”

The simple answer sticks in his throat like glue. He can’t bring himself to say it – why would he when what Owen just said makes him feel like there are ants running up and down his arms?

“Harry,” Owen chastises. “Be reasonable.”

“I’ll try,” Harry says to frozen toes. When he looks back up at Owen, the singer has a frown fixed upon his lips. “What were you saying about Louis?”

The redhead sighs again before continuing. “They needed someone to spark his attention, get him back into the writing scene. You were a gamble, someone who didn’t have all that experience in the music industry, someone who didn’t make him go off at once.

“We tried, I don’t know, over twenty other artists in the past year trying to find someone that wasn’t explosive. Derrick had the most success when Louis started to have trouble and it worked until it didn’t. Some of them were like you, we pulled them off the stage. There was always something wrong with them, I guess.” Owen ducks his head and chuckles. “It helped that you didn’t play ‘Torrent’, I guess.”

“I think someone mentioned that before,” Harry says past the rush of his pulse.

Owen offers him a small smile and a one armed hug. “Cause it’s true. Honestly didn’t think you were going to get very far after Val told us that you and Louis kept going at it. She was pretty adamant it was all going to shit after you went to see Joan. And when Val had enough, we were in the dark for a bit, didn’t really know what was going on. Then the two of you pulled ‘I Should’ve’ and ‘I Want To Dream of You’ out of nowhere with Avery. Joan and Steph knew we kind of hit the jackpot.”

There’s an unspoken “but” hanging in the air. Owen’s shoulders tense as he sighs again and has a long pull from his coffee cup. Harry can’t help but hold his breath and wait as they stop right in front of Magna headquarters.

“Then he kind of walked out of all of it. You were supposed to be the hook, that factor that would make him want to stay and write. We were all so sure of it, that this was the Louis we’d be getting back. I guess you did your job so well that made him realize he wanted to walk away.”

The words are all swirling in his head – it’s all a jumble. So he was a pawn in the grand scheme of things. It makes sense why they’d do that, considering how valuable Louis is. What management would want to let go of someone they’ve invested so much time and money in after five years?

Then again, Louis has been forward that he wants to do away with the mess of the place.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Owen says with a laugh, though it’s strained. “They’re waiting for you.”

It feels like he is on autopilot as he thanks Owen for his time and enters the building. He can barely take in the luxurious lobby and all of its ruby glass. The only reason he sees the massive translucent scarlet statue in the middle of the lobby is because he nearly runs into someone there.

Someones.

“Sor--” the words die in his throat as he makes catches familiar widened eyes and straightened mousy hair.

Her makeup makes her look nearly unrecognizable. Dark eye make-up with long lashes that can’t possibly be real and lipstick. She doesn’t even look like _Kate_ anymore, not with the pout or the fluttered blinks.

Harry can’t imagine that he looks the same, not with the new things they tell him to do and to wear.

She looks away first and Harry still can’t get the words out of his throat. He wants to say that it’s okay, that they’re fine, but his throat won’t let him get the words out. And his traitorous mind whispers that she needs to make the first move. It’s not right – things shouldn’t end this way.

Yet it does. Kate walks out the door without a second glance, led away by a man in a suit. Probably her agent – he isn’t sure.

Just like that, his limbs are freed. But he is awake now, like the cobwebs are cleared from his brain. So making the way up to the fourth floor is easy. Knocking on Joan’s door is not.

“Harry!” Joan gives him a grin as she opens the door. It looks so foreign on her face. “Come in.”

He means to step into the room, honestly, he does. But the words slip out of his mouth unbidden. Looks like he is more numb than he thought he was – and not physically. “Why didn’t you tell me that I was just a pawn?”

The smile falls off of Joan’s lips in a flash. “Excuse me?”

“Louis.” Harry says. Feeling rushes back into him. It hits like a truck, all at once in one rolling motion. Fury floods him, his veins, burning coursing throughout him.

Joan sniffs as she walks around to her desk. “We’re here to talk about your contract, Harry. Not Louis’s. His is long gone.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that this was all to get Louis back into the industry?” Harry can’t keep the growl from entering his voice. He tries to relax his hands, but they remain in balled fists. “Why didn’t you tell me it was never about the EP? That it was never about the music?”

Joan tips her head back and laughs humorlessly. “Child, it was always about the music.”

“It’s about the money,” he corrects.

“Semantics,” Joan waves her hand in the air. “He was the money maker. You were the gamble that we had to make. You’ve got a good voice, but you had nothing to your name. Louis did.”

It burns hear the confirmation, but he sweeps it aside. “So you tried to force his hand.”

“Actually, no,” Joan denies. “Originally we were going to let him go, just use the music he’s been trying to hide. But Valarie, lovely Valarie went ahead without our permission and found you out in the middle of Baltimore. Baltimore of all places.” She claps her hands together. “And said that she’d found someone who we could mold with Louis.”

“You stole his music,” Harry murmurs, more to himself. It’s not that he didn’t believe Louis, but hearing it from her just puts it all out there.

Again, Joan shakes her head. “Contracts, Harry. We signed If It Storms to put out three albums. He’s not singing with them. That music is rightfully under Magna Productions.”

Swallowing, Harry shakes his head and breaks the eye contact. The fury is swept aside by disgust. Louis got to leave, but years too late.

“Now that we’ve resolved that--”

“Wait,” Harry interrupts. “Why would you just take Valarie’s word at face value?”

“Stephanie didn’t believe me, but she did at the Mix106.5 interview. The two of you have chemistry and it works. I’ve never seen him work with another artist the way the two of you did. Never has he ever sought out connections like Fitzgerald, but for you, he did. You were the x factor that we needed.” Her eyes narrowed. “You could have convinced him to stay.”

Harry stops her right there. “Even if I could’ve, I wouldn’t have.” Another realization dawns on him. “Derrick left because he didn’t like it.”

Her mouth thins as if she swallowed something particularly sour. “He was fired from his position because his views on public relations conflicted with the company’s. And that’s enough. We are here to discuss your contract, Harry.”

That seals the deal. He remembers that day Kate told him the stupidest thing he has ever done is walk away from Louis. No. This one takes the cake.

“No.”

“I’m sorry?”

Harry turns to face the door. “I’m not re-signing.”

“You are in no place to argue, Harry,” Joan’s voice drops to subzero levels. He has to suppress the shivers that race through him even though he isn’t facing her.

“I’ve finished my contract,” Harry tries to keep his voice steady. “I’ve done as you asked, followed the way you wanted to raise my profile. You got the EP; the EP’s released. You have the rights to the music.”

He looks over his shoulder and forces himself to meet her stony gaze. “I want a management and label that tells me truth and doesn’t manipulate me into what I do. You told me in the beginning you’d have my best interests as the number one priority. I don’t think you do.”

 

It’s hard to keep his steps steady as he walks right back out the lobby. That’s when the shivers start, uncontrollable and nerve racking. The wind chill aren’t the reason, not when his skin still feels like it’s about to boil over under the woolen trench coat.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

He doesn’t have a job. He’s in a stupid city where he has no one. And all because of his stupid brain and stupid ideas. With a groan, he sinks down against a building and buries his head in his hands. The cold seeps through the black trench coat, but it doesn’t do anything to quell his burning skin.

People are giving him weird looks but he couldn’t care less. He should call someone. Derrick. He’d understand. Bring him back down.

When someone picks up, Harry is hyperventilating. Maybe this is what a panic attack feels like. “I’vedonesomethingreallystupidIwalkedoutonMagnaand Idon’tknowwhatI’mgoingtodo.”

“Breathe,” someone distinctly not Derrick says.

The shock is enough for him to take in a gasp of frigid air. It feels like it goes down the wrong pipes so he dissolves into a flurry of coughs.

“That’s it,” the person on the other line encourages. “You’re okay.”

Eyes and nose streaming, Harry wheezes, “Is Derrick available?”

“Yeah, he’s just not available at the moment,” the person says sheepishly. “I – yeah. He’s not available at the moment. You sound like you could use someone to talk to though. Which, if you’re willing to share, I’m your ears for the next hour.”

He has nothing to lose. There’s no Magna, no XEPA involved, not after the stunt he just pulled. Ha. Stunt. So he spills everything, from the beginning to the end, even though he can’t feel his hands.

There’s a beat of silence on the other end before the guy laughs softly, not meanly though. “I don’t know if I have any grounds for you to listen to me, bro, since I’m not like Derrick who’s versed in all that PR stuff. But I’d say the two of you have something. I know how cheesy this sounds, but high risk, high rewards. Louis sounds like a good kid. You got your passport?”

“Not on me?” Harry can already sense what the guy is about to tell him.

“Go to London, find him.”

It startles a laugh out of Harry and now he can’t stop, tears streaming down his face. “You’re kidding me.”

The guy guffaws. “I’m really not. Long distance fucking sucks, man, but it works. Derrick and Ray make it work. How’s this. You get a ticket, the earliest one, fly by United, and I’ll let Louis know.”

“You know him?”

“Not really?” The guy laughs again. “But I saw the two of you at Skate Strong and I’ve seen the photos my boy has taken. I think Misha called him the other day to send them to you.”

“That was you guys?”

“All him. All I know is Snapchat and Instagram. The professional shit is all him. So you good, man?”

Harry takes a breath and lets it out slowly. He probably won’t go to London – that’s too drastic and dramatic. His life hasn’t reached that point of a novel. “Yeah, thanks for the help.”

“Not a problem. Trust me that things will work out. They always do.”

When he pulls the phone away from his ear, his hands have gone completely numb. That’s when he catches the notification light jumping out at him. Immediately, his heart jumps up to his throat and his skin freezes for a completely different reason.

He only has twitter notifications on for one person.

“Ch eese,” is the only thing he has tweeted.

That’s more than enough to make Harry start running.

 

By the time Harry steps off the plane in Heathrow, he feels nauseous. He has nothing with him besides his wallet and his passport, Ray Bans in his pocket, the clothes on his back. The urge to laugh and cry is building back up again with every step he takes away from the plane.

Just as he convinces himself to duck into the nearest men’s bathroom to quietly freak the fuck out, he sees him.

The white cane is back by his side, tufts of caramel hair hidden by a grey beanie. He’s absolutely burrowed into a heavy jacket, with his knees tucked up to his chest. To everyone else he looks like he has fallen asleep in the middle of London’s biggest airport.

But Harry can see the way his eyes dart around constantly, the way his hand keeps slipping into his pocket. No doubt there’s a set of earphones hidden by the beanie.

While he had been drinking this all in, his feet drew them closer and closer until he stands before him. Louis lifts up his head, fingers twitching and lips pulled into a snarl.

He has so many things he wants to say, yet the first thing that slips out of his mouth is, “I brought your Ray Bans back.”

The snarl drops from his mouth immediately. Louis gawps at him, fish-mouthing for a few seconds. Then he laughs, the honking sound so familiar, Harry can’t help but smile helplessly. He dissolves into laughter as well when Louis throws himself into a hug, arms tight around his neck.

“You stupid, stupid, stupid -- why the hell did you walk away from all of it?”

For a moment, Harry honestly debates on telling him that he did it out of loyalty. Then again, Louis would see through him in an instant. “It was a selfish decision. How’d you know I’d be here?”

Louis presses his nose into the crook between his neck and his jaw. Harry shivers before burying his hand under the beanie into the soft, soft hair he only got to touch once. It’s as silky as he remembers, if not a bit longer.

“I got a weird ass message from some hockey player I vaguely remember Derrick introducing me to,” Louis murmurs. “You were supposed to be a songbird, not a hawk.”

“Can’t I be both?” Harry pulls back and thumbs those sharp cheekbones.

Now it’s Louis’s turn to shiver. “You really gave up a musical career.”

That’s the thing he regrets. It was a one or another situation that he created. “I did.” He tries not to let the sadness seep in. Despite his efforts he can feel himself slump and Louis’s eyes flash in the direction of his face.

Warm hands cup his cheek and nudge him to stare down at Louis. The kiss is chaste, nothing as impatient as the last time, no teeth, no urgency. Then another one to his cheeks. Then the bridge of his nose. And a soft kiss on his forehead.

It’s a struggle to pull away, but somehow he manages it. “What about the pictures?”

“No one knows us here and I don’t care - Do you trust me?” Louis whispers as he puts their foreheads together.

Always have. “Yes.”

“I promise we’ll get you back up there,” Louis’s breath ghosts his lips. “But let’s just enjoy this right now.”

Harry breathes in the smell of old spice and winter and _Louis_. His heart isn’t in overdrive, there’s no music, no sparks, no fireworks. Everything is just sure. And all he can see is Louis, Louis, Louis.

He lets his eyes drift to that shy smile peeking out at the corners of Louis’s lips and he _wants_.

And this time? It tastes like gold. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you see any errors, they are mine and mine alone. Wanna chat? I'm ventracere on tumblr.


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